


Pretty Wings

by BlitchyProse (HisQueenInTheNorth), HisQueenInTheNorth



Category: game of thrones
Genre: Aemon The Dreamer, Aged up Starklings, Angst, Anti-canon, BAMF Jon Snow, BAMF Sansa Stark, Cousin Incest, Dragon dreams, F/M, Fluff, Inconsistent narrator, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Magic, Mutual Healing, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, Pregnancy, Protective Jon, Sansa The Dreamer, These characters don’t teleport, Threatened miscarriage don’t read if you don’t like, Wolf Dreams, jonsa, not Dany friendly, soul ties, winter witch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 54,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24875170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HisQueenInTheNorth/pseuds/BlitchyProse, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HisQueenInTheNorth/pseuds/HisQueenInTheNorth
Summary: Sansa Stark is presented with a choice, Marry the bastard Ramsay Snow and take back Winterfell, or go to the wall and seek the protection of her last living brother. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 124
Kudos: 322





	1. It’s All Coming Back To Me Now

**Author's Note:**

> So I’ve decided to try my hand with a Jonsa fic. I read the series in 2012 after the first season finale. I powered through the books because they were so good. I recently re-read the series because the last two season were terrible. And season 8 really left a bad taste in my mouth. Any who- re reading the series I saw a lot of parallels to other couples in the series. And it just makes so much more sense that it’s Sansa.  
> With all that being said- I hope you guys enjoy. I plan to incorporate some of the magic and prophecy that they forgot about in the last two seasons. Please feedback keeps  
> Me fed. Comments are motivation.

**Sansa**

Sansa had always been a middling rider. Her Lord father insisted she learn to ride properly, despite her many protests. She was grateful that although she was a slow learner, she learned.

The wheelhouse she shared with her _uncle,_ Lord Petyr Baelish was suffocating. She’d often awake to find his gaze on her. It left her unsettled, the way he looked at her. As if he were studying her, or undressing her with his eyes.

The last time was no different. The Kingsroad was surprisingly unobstructed with only a light dusting of snow. The ride was smooth and eventually she was lulled into a deep sleep by the rhythmic _clop clop_ of horses, and the gentle swaying of the wheelhouse. Soon, her peaceful sleep became a nightmare.

_For the watch. She heard it uttered as blades pierced her. She felt the cold of the first blade as it pierced her belly, then a burning sensation as it was wrenched free. At the fourth utterance of ‘For the watch’ she felt a blade pierce her heart, and she thought “Even you?”. Her heart was rent in two, not by the blade, but by the betrayal and disappointment the final blade meant._

_Then she was falling. Her blood thawed the snow around her body and became an offering for the Old Gods._

She woke to find Petyr hovering near her. A look of concern mixed with something predatory in his eyes. “Sansa darling, are you unwell?” He regarded her in his calculating way which left her unsettled, but she donned her armor and put her mask in place. “I’m well Uncle. Just a bit weary and scared. We’ve been traveling for many a moon turn with no end in sight. We’re in the North, but _where_ are we going? What do you plan to do with me?” Her façade momentarily slipping.

“I only wish to see you happy Sansa. You told me you would not return to Winterfell while the Bolton’s held it, so I intend to take you to Castle Black.” He paused to study her reaction. She was careful to conceal her emotions. She was relieved. Relieved to be rid of him and to be under the protection of her last remaining family. “Your bastard brother has risen to Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. I’m sure he will shelter and protect you.” He finished triumphantly.

“But you would need protection too. You broke the betrothal with the Bolton’s, and by now I’m sure word of the betrothal has reached Cersei. So it seems, Lord Baelish, that you made an enemy of the realms largest kingdom and its current monarch,” she said.

There was a brief flash of something in his eyes. Then it was gone. “My darling, I have the Knights of The Vale under my command. While you’re correct in your observations, I do this purely for your happiness.”

She sighed inwardly. “Be that as it may, Lord Baelish, your motives aren’t entirely pure. I require fresh air. Time In the saddle would calm me.” Without another word Petyr motioned for the wheelhouse to be stopped and shortly after speaking with one of the Knights serving as their escort, a grey palfrey was brought and saddled for her.

They were less than a days ride from Castle Black she later learned and she intended to spend the remainder of the journey in the saddle. She couldn’t stomach Petyrs presence for a moment longer.

As she settled, he looked to her “ Are you sure of your insistence to ride, my love? It’s terribly cold and this wind is unforgiving. I would hate for you to fall ill.” She looked down on him, “I am a Stark of Winterfell, and winter runs through my veins. You’d do well to remember that,” she said as she urged her mount forward.

She found herself lost in her thoughts in a matter of moments. She tried to summon memories of her bastard brother, and her heart clenched with the irony that her bastard brother was the _only brother_ left to her.

She remembered him always being serious and melancholy. He was quiet compared to Theon and Robb. Less of a braggart but very skilled in all things he undertook.

She remembers him attacking the straw man in the training yard, as if it was his only outlet for the frustration and pain that came with being a bastard.

She always wanted to share some words with him. Offer him some kindness as a sibling, but she didn’t want to hurt her mother, so she kept her distance. They were never close, but there were a few times she sought to comfort him.

One such time was on his 13th name day, their father had gifted him with a new jerkin and cloak. He was never allowed to have a name day celebration or receive gifts, but father insisted this particular year. He thought there was to be a feast. She heard him talking to Robb and Theon about his name day feast and Theon laughed in his face. “Lady Stark would never allow a celebration for a bastard, _Bastard.”_ She felt the pain radiating from him as he stalked off in the direction of the Godswood, forgetting he still donned the cloak.

She followed after him and found him sitting on the same fallen log that Father often sat at, bawling with his head in his hands. She sat next to him, her thigh barely touching his. “Don’t listen to Theon, Jon. You know Father May have a small dinner in your honor. You’re a good son, bastard or not.” She said trying to comfort him. Jon wipes his face and looked to her, “I don’t care about Theon, I tore my cloak. This is the only real gift anyone has ever given me. And I ruined it. I ruin everything. I ruined your perfect family and I ruined fathers honor. I wonder if all bastards wished they were never born?”

The tears were flowing freely and his pain, a living thing etched like an extra feature on his face as he searched hers for the answer to his question. The silence hung between them for a few moments until a sharp “Sansa” jolted them from the moment.

She looked to see her mother stalking over to them, anger plain on her face and in her stride. Before she could stand up, Lady Catelyn snatched and dragged her out of the Godswood. She spared a look back at Jon and the sight broke her heart.

That same night she had Bran and Rickon sneak into his chambers and fetch the cloak so she could mend the tears and hopefully the wound in his heart. She fixed it quickly and sent it back with the boys before he returned from his bath.

She never told him it was her, but she didn’t need to. Just the thought of him finding a little happiness was all the thanks she needed.

She was broken out of her reverie by one of the scouts riding back to tell them they were only a few hours out.

She pushed her palfrey a little harder, the closer she got to Jon, the more anxious she became until they were about an hour out and the anxiousness was replaced by a feeling of dread deep in her stomach. She had no idea how she knew, but as she approached the gates of Castle Black, she knew her brother was dead.

**Jon**

As his blood thawed the snow and earth he saw hair kissed by fire. _You know nothing, Jon Snow_ was a whisper on the wind all around him and in his head all at once. Somehow, her face became Sansa’s and he knew peace. He reached for Ghost with his mind to say goodbye to the only friend who knew him when he was just bastard boy from Winterfell. _Kill the boy Jon Snow, and let the man be born._

All of a sudden he wasn’t cold and very much alive, with four legs instead of two. He needed to get out of the kennel. He needed to see. He let out a long mournful howl. And another and another until the old man came to see. He saw Edd and Davos. Finally he was let out. He went over to where he lay just as his body was being moved. He followed them up the steps and watched in horror as they laid his already cold body out on the table. He could barely follow the conversation being had. His only thought was ripping the throats from the men who did this. His new body felt powerful and his base instincts even more so. As time went on and the humans continued to talk, he could feel Ghost claiming his mind.

There was some commotion at the door, and the humans had more words. The one Jon trusted left, soon after there were sounds of battle, the smell of blood and men dying. He paced the floor eager to get out but reluctant to leave the human holding vigil over him. Finally when the din of battle subsided he sat back on his haunches and closed his eyes.

Images flooded his mind of a girl with red hair and a blue dress. Of a torn cloak and socks with direwolves stitched into them. Of arrows piercing his side as he straddled a horse. Of the Night King raising thousands of Wildlings. The human watching over him is joined by a big man with hair like fire and the one he calls brother. They talk of burning his body and he’s relieved.

Then the door opened and a woman in red glided in. She smelled ancient and foul. He never noticed it but now, with Ghosts’ heightened senses, he knows she’s made of magic and fire and sacrifice. Her and the man are talking, then she has his body undressed. He watched as she cleaned his body. She cuts his hair and tosses it into the fire. He can feel the magic thrumming in his veins and something faint pulling him back to his body.

He fights it. He’d rather be a beast. In this body he doesn’t need to think of the Long Night and all the death that will follow. He doesn’t have to think about how he failed everyone. He doesn’t have to face the betrayal of his men. He can just be Ghost and hunt in the woods and be at peace. He doesn’t want to return to a life of war. A life of no comfort or hope or love. He realizes the only people to mourn him are the few in this room. He’s better off like this, he thinks bitterly. With that thought, he severs the cord pulling back into his body.

He sees her shoulders slump and he can smell the defeat on her. She leaves and when she’s gone, he settles into an uneasy sleep and he dreams.

Two long horn blasts wake him with a start. The sun had just begun to rise and he hears the castle stirring to meet the riders at the gate.

He can understand the humans now. He can hear desperation in her voice. “If what you say is true, then there’s no reason why I can’t see the body of Ned Starks last Don. I am Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell. His sister and I will wash his body and prepare him for burial.” She all but screams those last few words and is interrupted by the big man telling her they intend to burn him. “WHAT?” She screams as the door is all but kicked in.

She stops short as she sees his body on the table. “Jon?”

His name leaves her lips in a barely audible whisper. Followed by a choked sob. “Jon?” The desperation giving way to realization and finally, grief.

Her grief was a terrible thing. It filled up the room and sniffed out any hope. It came off her in waves and it assaulted every one of his heightened senses.

He tasted the salt in her tears and the sick in her stomach. He padded over to where she stood next to his body and nuzzled his head against her. She put her hand in his fur and dissolved into a fresh wave of tears.

He wanted nothing more than to comfort her with his own body. He took in the sight of her, eyes red and wild from her tears and something inside of him swelled. _This is love_. He knew it wasn’t a romantic love or a motherly love, but a love he wanted to live for.


	2. Sometimes it Snows In April

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa mourns and prepares Jons body while he talks to ghosts of his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta’d

**Sansa**

When she first saw the him, the armor she spent years perfecting cracked, and after everything Sansa had been through, this is what broke her. She had dared herself to hope that for once, the Old Gods or The New would let her find some respite in this long tortuous journey.

She was exhausted. Tired of running. So when Petyr told her she was coming here, she thought her trials had at last come to an end. She lamented in her circumstances. It wasn’t enough that almost everyone she loved was murdered, but the fact that she was this close to family and safety, only to have it torn away, obliterated any hope for any sort of livable life.

She mourned for the young gangly boy he was, the gentle heart she knew he had, and how we went without a mothers’ love or comfort. She leaned over and kissed his brow. “I love you,” she whispered as her tears dropped onto his cheek and lips. She let her eyes travel down the length of his body, now tinged grey and blue in death. She looked at the gaping wound where his heart should be, and her eyes burned with fresh tears.

“How could they,” she chokes on a sob. Gently her hands trail over his wounds. She feels Ghost nudging her leg as she feels compelled to show him some kindness in death. Something he rarely received from her in life. She leaned over and kissed the gape above his heart and whispered “I can feel you somewhere. If there’s any way you can, please come back to me. I love you.” 

Ghost nudges her a bit harder and then goes stiff as footsteps approach the door. Davos knocks once and then pushes the door open. “M’lady, it’s been a while, and the pyre has been prepared.” He looks to Jon and she sees sadness in the slump of his shoulders as he looks at her brother. He looks tired and defeated, as if he too pinned all his hopes on Jon.

She nods her head but doesn’t move. Then the old man is placing a chair at her back. She falls into it but leans over Jon’s body again. _I’m sorry this happened to you. I’m sorry you died alone. I’m sorry you thought you weren’t loved because we did love you. Robb said you were his brother and his best friend. Bran and Rickon wanted to be just like you, they followed you around more than Robb. And I know Arya loved you most. But I loved you too._

She whispered her prayer in his ear, hoping that wherever death took him he still had a tie to this realm and could hear her. The kindly old man stands apart from her, trying not to watch, but when she looked at him she saw tears pooling in his eyes. She straightened her back and smoothed her dress.

“Ser,” she began. “It’s Davos. M’lady. Ser Davos of house Seaworth.” She raised a brow at the unfamiliar house name but thought no more of it. “Are the people who did this to him dead?” He shook his head. “No, but the bastards are in the ice cells and they will be dead soon enough,” he finished with a hard look to his face. She nodded. “I need a needle, thread and a water. Bring me his finest clothing. I will prepare my brother for his pyre. While I do so, someone can go about securing the Castle properly. There might be men who wielded the daggers against him, but there are men who were too coward to join, but hated him enough to let it happen. I want them dead too.”

He regarded her for a moment before he nodded his head and turned on his heel. She was once again left alone with Ghost and her thoughts. She knew now that she was at Petyr’s mercy, still a pawn in his never ending game. He called her the Key to the north. She would bide her time. He wasn’t the only option.

Just outside of Castle Black they came across two travelers camped out who turned out to be the Lady Knight Brienne of Tarth and her squire Podrick Payne. She explained she was sworn to her mother, and would swear to her if need be. Sansa thought of the approaching man in the wheelhouse and accepted her oath readily.

Sansa could tell Petyr was put out by their presence. This made it harder for him to lay his plans, and play his games of manipulation if she was never alone. And now she felt some sort of safety from his prying eyes. T

Her reverie is broken by the big man and Davos. They bring the supplies she needs and she sets about washing his wounds down. There isn’t much blood, but his skin is streaked and tinged pink with blood. As if someone started the task but had to hurry to complete it.

She filled every pass of the cloth with love. When she poured water over his hair and worked her fingers into to his scalp, she spoke love over him, hoping that he could feel it wherever he may be. All the while she was almost tripping over Ghost as he was underfoot the entire time. 

She sat down once his body was free of blood and began threading a heavy needle. She would close his wounds, and then send him off. Her eyes blur again as she struggles to steady her hand.The first punch through the flesh was hard as his skin was becoming tight and pulling away from the wounds, but soon after she found a rhythm. _Through and under and over_ she chanted to herself.

Time passes in a blur. Before she realizes, she comes to the final wound over his heart. She’s going to take her time, because once she has him dressed they’re going to burn his body and he will be no more. The thought seizes her heart and her tears flow freely again. They roll down her nose and drop to his chest.

She doesn’t bother with wiping her face. Let them see her grief. She punched through the flesh and pricked her finger , blood welled up and a fat blob dropped into his wound before she got her finger to her mouth and she doesn’t realize it, so when her finger stopped bleeding, she began stitching him again.

She doesn’t notice that his skin becomes more plaint in her hands, or that it starts to warm either. All she knows is grief. All she feels is emptiness and pain. She just kept stitching until she was done.

She sat back and looked at the clothing that was brought for him and the big man with the fire red hair raised an eyebrow at her. “Guess yer will be needing a hand, the baby crow has gone stiff, won’t be easy for a slight thing like you to dress him.” He says matter of factly.

She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes for a moment. She heard Ghosts paws as he padded over to her and put his massive head in her lap. She runs her fingers through his fur and he seems to settle, but all at once the hairs on her body stand straight up and the air has a charge to it. Ghost stiffens for but a moment, then darts over to where Jons body lay.

She barely registers the red man talking about Jons cock, and the old mans reproachful look at him as he’s reminded that he’s in the company of a lady. The red man just shrugs. “It is a little cock though,” he says to get the final word.

“Get away from him.” They didn’t hear her at first because her throat was so hoarse from her keening that it was barely above a whisper. “Get away from him,” she repeated, louder this time. She didn’t know why, but she knew that it had to be her touching him. She placed her hand on his chest and then she nuzzles her face in the crook of his neck. _He’s not as cold as he was before_. She thought it from the built up fire and the friction from her washing him.

She lay like that for a moment longer when a croak sounded from beneath her, setting her heart to hammer and her body to freeze. A heavy arm dropped on her back and pulled her in close.

And then she screamed.

**Jon**

He traveled through salt and blood and smoke. The journey back to his body took only seconds but in the place between life and death, time has no rules.

_He saw his father with a woman who looked like Arya. He saw the kind maester Aemon and they were all gazing at him with pride and love in their eyes. He tried to walk to them but the faster his legs carried him, the further away they moved from him. Maester Aemon spoke first. “The boy Jon Snow bled to death and when you return, a man will stand in his place. Never forget who you are.” He chuckles and pointed to his clear eyes. Jon could see they were a shocking purple. “I have my eyes back,” his merry laugh soothes Jon. With a nod of his head he acknowledged the old man who brought him comfort in his early days at the watch when he struggled to find a place for himself in the world. Immediately becoming disenchanted when he realized his father allowed him to come to the Wall to rot amongst murderers and rapists._

_He looked to his father and back to the woman who stood next to him and he knew this was his mother. He felt the love and sorrow radiating from her. But she looked so much like Arya that he was confused. ‘Lyanna’ he thought. He looked to his father in shame and confusion. “But she was your sister, I don’t understand,” he stuttered. Ned’s kind eyes looked to him and he smiled. “I made you a promise on the Kingsroad those years ago. Do you remember?” Jon searched his face for any kind of lingering shame and confused at seeing none gruffly he answered “Aye. You said next time we see each other, you’d tell me about my_

_Mother. You promised. But you were executed.” The grief threatens to overwhelm him as his voice became thick with emotion._

_Ned sighed and looked to Lyanna and she silently nodded. “I am your father in every sense of the word. I fed you and clothed you. I made sure you received a lords education, I gave you everything my children had. And I loved you. It was hard to not be able to show you affection in the eyes of others, but you must know, that I loved you and I risked my life and that of my family to keep you safe. I raised you as my bastard and I regret the pain you suffered as a result, but I did not sire you.” He looked to Lyanna as he finished._

_“When my brother found me, I was hovering between the realm of the living and dead, half crazed with fever and in a blood soaked bed. I wasn’t kidnapped. I fell in love and I ran away with Rhaegar Targaryen. We tried to explain to everyone after we married, I sent a letter to Brandon in Riverrun. He never received it and went to King’s Landing._

_The rest you already know. Robert led a rebellion, even though he knew I would never love him.” She paused for a moment to take in the sight of her beautiful son. She saw the emotions on his face as he worked out what they were telling him._

_“When Ned found me, I had just given birth to you. Rhaegar and Aerys were already dead. The war was won and Robert had Elia and her children murdered. I mourned for them. But I knew if I survived with a babe, everyone would know who you were and you’d never be safe. I begged my brother to protect you and when he took you in his arms I knew you’d be safe. Your name isn’t Jon. I called you Aemon, for the uncle your father loved. For the man who knew of your existence and waited for your arrival.”_

_Jons eyes widen in surprise. That means maester Aemon, knew who he was the entire time. He could have cried were the situation not so ridiculously fitting. “You are the true heir to the throne, the last true born male in the Targaryen line. But more than that, you’re descended from the oldest bloodlines in the world. You have the blood of the first men and the children of the forest and the blood of old Valyria running through your veins. You are magic and fire and ice made flesh. You will bring the dawn, but you have to know who you are to do so. Do you understand?”_

_He nodded as the realization hit him. He always felt like defeating the Night King was his personal responsibility. And now he knew why. He looked to his fat-uncle. “It’s too soon to take your true name. Retake Winterfell in the Stark name, secure the North and prepare, for winter is upon us. If you don’t hold Winterfell when winter comes, everyone is lost. Protect her, she came all this way for you. Protect her from him,” he said, his face darkening._

_Lyanna spoke next. “The mockingbird pretends to protect her but he plots. He’s the reason we’re all here. He intercepted my raven to Riverrun all those years ago, telling Brandon exactly what he needed to hear to send him to his death in the capital.” She said sadly._

_“And he plotted against me and it led to my death as well. You need him for now, but be smarter than me.” Ned looked past Jon as if he could see Sansa where she sat. “Find Howland Reed he can prove your claim when the time comes. And she was never your sister.” He says as they begin to fade away._

_“We love you,” Lyanna tells him as they fade and he’s sucked down and down into darkness. ‘I know,’ he thinks sadly._

He comes to himself in a rush of panic and pain. Sansa is laying on him and weight is foreign but soothing all the same. He tries to speak her name but nothing will come so he drops his arm around her waist. She stiffens and screams immediately.

She snatched herself away from and scrambled backwards across the room. Eyes wide and wild not comprehending what’s happening. Jon inhaled sharply and sat up, Ghost coming to his side at once. Davos and Tormunds’ mouths hang open in shock. Minds refusing to believe what their eyes see.

Jon tries to stand and stumbles while Sansa watches in equal parts horror and relief. “Get baby crow his cloak, it seems his tiny prick is a grower,” he said with a half amused smirk and an arched eyebrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liked the idea of Jon resisting the Red Woman’s Magic because he had nothing to live for. I played with the salt from her tears and her drop of blood being the jump start for Mel’s prayer to the god of fire. That along with the need to comfort and protect her is enough to bring Jon back from his wolf. I also wanted jons reveal to happen earlier. Makes the angst more angsty! Hope you enjoy and please leave comments. Comments to an author are like prayers. They keep me motivated and it’s nice to have dialogue about the babies of our imaginations. No one wants to hear they have an ugly baby 🤣 hit me up on tumblr @hisqueeninthenorth for chapter previews . This


	3. Won't Go Home Without You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon comes to himself, and gets revenge. Sansa realizes there's at least one hero in the world. Littlefinger plots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm extremely grateful and excited to read the comments. Its amazing to know that people enjoy my writing as much as I enjoy writing it.

**Jon**

His wounds burn and his head throbs. His limbs won’t obey his commands to stand and go to her. Instead he takes in the sight of his butchered and exposed body. The terror of his last moments come flooding back, which slowly gives way to resentment and anger.

He sees Davos approaching him as if he were a skittish horse being calmed for the saddle. The old man searches his eyes. “Are they blue?” He asks only half jesting, but Davos’ is keenly aware of the bitterness behind his words and says nothing. “Breathe Jon. It’s alright. You’re alright.” He says soothingly.

“It’s not. I did what I thought was right, and I got murdered for it. I shouldn’t be here.” Jon looks to Sansa, a silently pleading for her to come to him. Their eyes meet he’s overwhelmed with a

Sense of completeness. A sense of home. “You came back to me,” she whispers through her tears.

He didn’t register her movements until she stood in front of him, reaching out to smooth his hair from his eyes with a trembling hand. She drew her hand back and he caught it, kissing her knuckles and holding her hand against his lips for a beat longer than what would be proper for brother and sister.

He noticed Ghost watching them and then he felt him judging against his mind. _Family. Pack. Mate._ He was used to his Wolfs abstract thoughts, but Ghost was claiming Sansa as his family and pack, and telling him to claim her as his mate. He couldn’t help the smirk that spread across his face.

“Aye, I came back to you. I have to protect you. It’s just us now.” She pulled his head to her breast and he wrapped his arms around her waist. Their touch was the balm to soothe the many traumas they shared between them. If this is what healing felt like he swore to never let her go.

He looked around Sansa to Tormund and Davos trying to look away. Tormund leaned into Davos and whispered, rather loudly, “Are we gonna tell him to cover up his cock at least?” After all the stress of what Davos had been through, he cracked. He stormed out and pulled Tormund along with him.

Alone, Sansa finally noticed Jon was naked and spread the thin shroud over him that was meant to wrap him on his pyre. “Sorry,” he said as he ducks his head and fumbles with the sheet. “Only you would apologize for being murdered Jon,” she said. She dabs at her nose and eyes with the sleeve of her dress, still overcome with emotions.

She reaches out and touches his face because she still can’t believe he’s alive.

There’s a brief knock at the door and in walks the Lady Melisandre. She searches his eyes. “What did you see?” He knows what she means. He wants to keep that moment away from her. He knows what she does to those with Kings blood. He clenched his jaw and stared at a spot on the wall past her head. “Nothing.” He says. Melisandre visibly slumped. She regarded him for a moment more before continuing “ When the storms gather and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.”

Sansa gasps at hearing those familiar words on the lips of a stranger. But Melisandre continues. “Only you’re not just a wolf are you Jon Snow?” She turns to Sansa now. “And you, Nissa Nissa, there is power in your blood as well. You have the power of the old ones in you. You hold the power of life and death in you. Jon Snow is the Prince who Was Promised, but you’re the maker of his sword. Your sacrifice will end the long night.” Jon paled and she left the room in a breeze of red silk.

Sansa was visibly shaken. But Jon was terrified. He hated prophecy. How many more people would die as a result of misguided words. He’d been back from the dead less than an hour and he was already weary.

He looked to the edge of the table he lay on and spotted his black clothes. Sansa followed his eyes and set about dressing him. “I think I can manage Sansa,” he chuckled lightly.

“Nonsense, you’re about as steady as a newborn dawn learning to stand.” She hums softly as she bends to put his feet in his trousers. “I didn’t think to ask for small clothes. Didn’t think it mattered.” She shrugged. He took her hand to still her movements. “It doesn’t matter. Really it’s ok. I can manage back to my chambers.” He stroked the inside of her palm and she smiled down at him.

By the time he was in clothes and upright and Davos returned. “Alliser Thorne, Bowen Marsh, Wick Wittlestick and Olly are in the ice cells below. What’s our next move?” The dutiful old man asks.

Jon’s gaze darkens. “I execute them.” He found the strength to stand on his own. He kissed Sansa’s cheek and headed to his chambers to fetch his sword. _The man that passes the sentence must swing the sword_. His fathers words echoed in his mind as his heavy footsteps echoed in the halls of Castle Black.

**The Mockingbird**

Everything was going to plan. Well almost everything. A bit of gold and the promise of supplies and more men was enough to secure a few men of the Nights watch as assassins of their own Lord Commander. The way to Winterfell was clear. Murder the bastard, convince Sansa she was only safe as his wife, put a child in her belly, and then kill her if it please him to do so.

But then that monstrosity of a woman and her old squire found them and pledged to her before he could plant seeds of distrust in her.

At least the bastard was dead. Plenty of misfortune could befall a lady who didn’t know her place on the way from here to Winterfell. He wouldn’t fret about that just yet.

What troubled him was that the men he hired had been taken prisoner and order had been established with those loyal to the bastard almost immediately. If his scheming were to be uncovered here, he was a dead man, and at the very least a new sworn brother.

He kept his head down against the wind as he made his way to the rookery. His head turned to the commotion in the courtyard as prisoners were being led forth and a block set up.

His blood chilled in his veins as he saw the shadow of Ned Stark climb the platform awaiting the prisoners to be brought before him. He saw the blood in the courtyard. He heard the men whispering of betrayal and blades in the dark. He heard Sansa’s screams that left no doubt the bastard was dead. But this had to be him. He was too much like Ned for it not to be.

“You betrayed me. You murdered me. For that crime, I sentence you” he swept his blade past all of them, “to die.” His voice boomed throughout the courtyard and he was reminded of someone else, but he couldn’t place them at the moment. He stood transfixed as he watched the bastard.

He carried himself regally, with a spine of steel and gracefulness that one in boiled leathers and heavy a fur cloak shouldn’t possess. He shed the cloak and motioned for the prisoner to be positioned at the block.

“If you have any last words, now’s the time My lord.” He didn’t wait long. “I fought. I lost. Now I rest. But you, Lord Snow, you’ll be fighting their battles forever.” Not a breath passed before Jon’s strike with Longclaw sang in the air, severing head from neck in one clean sweep.

The next man was pushed down before the block. “Tell my mother I died fighting Wildings. Please.” He begged as he trembled. Jon looked him in his eye. “No. She will hear of your treachery and know you pissed yourself as you died a traitor’s death.” And his head was gone too.

Next up was Wick. He said nothing, and Petyr watched in silence as this man was offered no chance to speak but beheaded immediately.

He scanned the ramparts and saw Sansa standing there: terribly beautiful with her hair whipping behind her in the harsh wind. The way she looked at the bastard left the taste of ash in his mouth as he watched his plans to take Winterfell go up in smoke with every swing of the sword. 

**Jon**

Olly approaches the block with his head down and shoulders slumped. He was so young but he already had the posture of an old stooped man. This one would be the hardest yet. Jon swallowed the lump forming in his throat and looked away when the tears threatened to spill over. He looked in Olly’s eyes and instead of hatred or indifference, he thought he saw hurt and shame. He saw fear and sorrow.

“Any last words Olly?” As he looked him in the eyes, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was wrong. Olly had just seen his twelfth name day. The others were men grown and knew full well what the consequences of their actions would be.

“Only that I’m sorry. Sorry that you didn’t stay dead and all the wildlings too. I’m sorry that those savages killed my parents. I’m sorry I’m an orphan. And I’m sorry you expected me to live amongst them in peace and to forget that it was these same men and women who killed my ma and da. I’m sorry you’re too stupid to see it,” he said hatefully.

Jon stood in silent shock taking in his words. Olly bent down and placed his head on the block, twisting so that he could look Jon in the eye. “Get on with it Lord Commander,” he spat, and just as quick, his head was parted from his body. Jon fastened the bloody sword to his belt and draped the cloak over his shoulders immediately feeling the weight of it. 

_Night gathers and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death._ He pondered the words as he walked away from the platform. He made eye contact with Sansa and was making his way towards her when he was stopped by Edd.

“So what now Lord Commander?” Jon sighed and gave Edd a sad smile. “I can’t stay here,” he says as he unfastens the cloak and gives it to Edd. “Castle Black is yours; my watch has ended.”

**Sansa**

She watched the executions from the balcony, she had view of the entire courtyard below, and was within earshot of a few men directly below her. After the heads flew, one of the men remarked how it reminded him of when the Lord Commander took the head of Janos Slynt. When she heard the name, it brought her back to the day her life changed forever.

The man who pushed her father’s neck to the block. It never occurred to her that Jon would cross paths with him. She knew her brother was at the wall, and knew that her first husband had exiled Slynt to the wall, but she failed to connect the two.

But she remembers going to court after they murdered her father. She remembered looking at him and wishing a hero would hold him and cut off his head, remembered the hopelessness she felt when she looked around and realized that heroes didn’t exist, perhaps they only existed in songs only foolish girls believed in. After they took her father’s head, Sansa could not be a foolish girl anymore. Her survival depended on it.

She could have laughed, cried, or both thinking of the irony of the situation. Jon was a hero, he wasn’t a flowery knight in a song, he was alive, and she could touch him. The tears threatened to spill again but she blinked them back. He met her eyes from the courtyard and started walking towards her.

She sighed when he was distracted by Edd, and resolved to wait for them to finish talking when the hairs on her arms stood on end.

“Good afternoon my dear.” She rolled her eyes and kept her back to him. “Lord Baelish,” she answered coldly. He cleared his throat, the bite in her voice giving him pause. “I just wanted to check in with you. Last I saw you, was upon arrival to the castle. And I’ve also heard whispers of many fantastic and terrible things. I wondered if we might have a word.” He paused, giving her an opportunity to speak, when she did not, he continued “I’ve been giving modest chambers, but there is a table and two chairs. I wondered if we might share a supper together this evening?”

Here it is, she thought. _Careful, you need the Vale._ “Lord Baelish, now that I’m under the protection of my brother, it hardly seems appropriate to take an evening meal alone in your solar,” she said as she turned to face him. “My brother and I will take supper in his solar and you’re more than welcome to attend, I’m sure that will be an appropriate time to discuss whatever concerns you.”

It was a dismissal, and just then Jon approached. Sansa saw his mood shift and for a moment she was able to see annoyance in his features. “Sansa,” Jon said as he reached for her hand. It felt so natural, the physical contact they’ve established in the few short moments they had together when he came back. She was quick to place her hand in his and for a moment she forgot about Baelish breathing down her neck.

“Jon, this is Lord Baelish, Lord Paramount of the Vale. He’s responsible for my journey to you, among other things,” she trailed off mid sentence when Petyr looked Jon from head to toe. “Lord Commander, it was an honor to escort the Lady Sansa to you for protection.” He waited for Jon to say “ I’m forever in your debt” but Jon offered no such thing.

Instead, Sansa watched as Jon regarded Petyr with barely concealed disgust and offered him a curt nod while sweeping her away. “I don’t want you alone with him. He cant be trusted.” She rolled her eyes. “Only a fool would trust Littlefinger. And only a fool would turn him away before we secured the supports of the Vale Knights. He’s plotting something even now, I’m sure of it.” She finishes. He stops short, as the realization hits him. “Sansa, why do we need the Vale Knights? And what do you think he’s plotting?” He asks already knowing the answer. “Because we are going to go home, and its Littlefinger. He is always plotting. I’d be surprised if he weren’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be a bit loner. There's a lot of Jon and Sansa dialogue As always please leave a comment to let me know what thats relevant to the plot. So I apologize in advance. As always, please drop a comment and let me know what you think.


	4. Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa talk, Bran invades their dreams, and another reveal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I worth’s the bit with Jon and Sansa laying in silence, I heard the song Bound by Ari Lennox. Her vocals are haunting and the lyrics are so Jon and Sansa. I posted them at the beginning of the chapter.

_ 🎶 Kisses like marshmallow melts on my neck _

_ A whimsical warning too sweet to forget _

_ Let's get lost, somewhere in the night _

_ Tell your stories and I'll tell you mine _

_ I'm bound _

_ Bound _

_ Bound _

_ I'm so in love now _

_ I'm down _

_ Down _

_ Down _

_ When you're not around _

_ Oh stay here _

_ Stay here _

_ I need you around _

_ Stay here _

_ Stay here _

_ A nuclear nectar planted on my lips _

_ Consoling serenity is all that you give _

_ And you showed up when I felt so dead _

_ I'm so torn up when you're not in my bed _

_ I'm bound _

_ Bound _

_ Bound _

_ I'm so in love now _

_ I'm down _

_ Down _

_ Down _

_ When you're not around _

_ Oh stay here _

_ Stay here _

_ I need you around _

_ Stay here _

_ Stay here _

_ Maybe silly dreams can come true _

_ Daily doubting then I found you _

_ Ahh _

_ Sometimes I wonder if it's even real _

_ But I could never fake what I feel _

_ Ahh _

_ Maybe silly dreams can come true _

_ Daily doubting then I found you _

_ Ahh _

_ Sometimes I wonder if it's even real _

_ But I could never fake what I feel _

_ Ahh 🎶  
  
_

*************************************   
  


Jon and Sansa eyed each other over their bowls of stew. Neither of them knowing where to start. The silence was loud between them. The sun was beginning to set and despite the hours that passed since Jon’s resurrection and the executions, they hadn’t spoken privately. With the excitement and emotions wearing down, they were both bone weary, but neither could bear to part from the other, so they sat. And slurped.

“Sansa, there are some things I must tell you. But first, I need your word that what we speak of, will go no further than this room.” She set her bowl on the table and straightened, glad that the silence was finally broken. “Of course, I swear it,” she said. “Good. Because my life may depend on it.” He struggled to find a good starting point, so he began at the beginning, when he first left Winterfell. He recounted Ned’s promise to him, before he rode north for the wall and Ned turned south for King’s Landing. He told her of how he killed the Halfhand and Ygritte. He told her about the climb and subsequent battle for Castle Black.

She grew misty eyed when he told her of Ygritte dying in his arms. He talked of Mance and Stannis, the mutiny, Hardhome and finally his murder. “But I didn’t really die. My body was dead, but I warged into Ghost somehow. I was _in_ Ghost when Melisandre tried to bring me back. I felt the pull back into my body, but Ghost was so strong, and I was tired of the fighting. There was a link pulling me back, but I fought it Sansa. I did.” Jon looks at her, almost as if he can see into her soul and says “But then you came. I heard your grief. I felt it. As Ghost, I could almost smell it. The pain came off you in waves. I was relieved and happy to see you. But then I looked over at my cold body, and I heard your keening. Sansa it broke me in two. I had to get back to you.”

She slid closer to him until their thighs touched to lay her head on his shoulder. The tears came in a flood. “I saw you and all I could think of was how you died, alone and in pain. I thought of how I was awful to you when we were children.” He wrapped his arm around her and stroked her back. “You weren’t awful. You were distant. But you were never unkind to me.” She sniffed. “But I was. I knew how you struggled, how you never had a mother’s love, and I was too afraid of my mother to show you much I really loved you.” She feels him freeze and subtly pull away from her.

“I know it was you who mended my nameday cloak. It was you who mended my things after that. Also you who left socks and tunics and gloves in my chambers. You weren’t awful Sansa, and I knew you cared.” He goes back to stroking her back. She chuckled. “I did care Jon. I still do. But this isn’t about me, I have a feeling there’s more to it,” she said as she looked at him.

“Right, well as I said Melisandre tried to bring me back with some spell, but I fought it. It wasn’t until you were washing and stitching me that I was able to get back to my body. I was somewhere between living and death when I saw your father, Lyanna and Maester Aemon.” He notices her eyebrows shoot up at ‘your father’ but he presses on. “Your father promised me he would tell me about my mother the next time we would see each other. But he never did.” Jon got this faraway look in his eyes as he remembered what Ned said to him that day. “You may not have my name, but you have my blood. That’s what he told me Sansa, and it makes so much sense now. Lyanna was my mother Sansa.”

The noise that left her body was only comparable to her keening when she found him dead. “Fathers’ sister Jon. He would never, he – he” He shook his head, “No, Lyanna was my mother but Ned Stark wasn’t my father. I have his blood, but it’s through the blood of my mother, Lyanna that I’m a Stark. My father was Rhaegar Targaryen.” She was speechless. Her bastard brother, wasn’t just the bastard of a lord. He was the bastard of the heir to the Iron Throne. “There’s more. Evidently he and my mother were wed, so I’m not a bastard. The whole war was lie. A lie perpetuated by Littlefinger. Lyanna sent a raven to Riverrun to her brother Brandon, remember he was bethrothed to your mother first and was there probably for marriage negotiations. It was intercepted by Littlefinger, then Brandon and your Grandfather rode for the capital. Where my grandfather murdered them, starting the rebellion. Littlefinger was also behind your fathers murder as well.”

Sansa felt as if she would be sick. She covered her face in her hands and wept openly. The level of betrayal she felt was palpable. To think, she spent months with the man who was responsible for the deaths of nearly everyone she ever loved in the world. She broke bread with him, she endured his slimy kisses and his hands under the guise of safety, and he was possibly the most dangerous man in Westeros. It chilled her to her core. She gathered herself and the words to leave her lips next were no accident. “He murdered my Aunt Lysa soon after he married her and became Lord of the Vale. He plotted to have Joffrey poisoned at his wedding. He killed Ser Dontos, the disgraced Knight who helped me to escape the wedding. His crimes are many. And I fear he’s still plotting,” she finished on a shaky breath. “Aye. Edd said two ravens left the rookery today. But Littlefinger will dig his own hole, we have enough to execute him today, but I trust in you to know how best to handle him. I will follow your lead.”

His words, although grim, made her smile. He listened to her, he valued her for her mind, not because she was the means to Winterfell. Something was happening between them. Nothing was changing, but something that was always there was growing inside of her. She just wanted him to hold her. His calloused hand felt warm and strong in hers. She knew she would always be safe in his arms. The thought gave her pause. He was, to the world, her brother. But if she were being honest with herself, she loved him when she thought him her brother, looking back, her affections were not entirely familial.

She thought of the many times as a child she would go to the heart tree at Winterfell to escape Arya’s pestering, she would always find him there. There were times she thought she could feel his sadness. The more she thinks on it, the more she comes to realize that he was never far from her thoughts. She had to change the subject. “You’re the rightful ruler of the seven kingdoms,” she said.

“I don’t want to be the ruler of anything. I want to keep you safe, I want to take back your home, so if Bran and Rickon and Arya are alive, they will have a home to come to. I want to beat the army of the dead so we have a future. I want many things Sansa, a kingdom isn’t one of them,” he finished. “And that’s why you’s make the best King.”

She had to put some distance between them. His voice went through her. It set her belly on fire and the heat radiated down her body. She started putting their bowls and mugs on the tray. “Do you remember Old Nan’s kidney pies?” He smiled broadly. “With the peas and onions? They were my favorite.” She laughed then. It was light and carefree, as if they were the only two that mattered and the world wasn’t falling apart.

“Fath- Uncle Ned said I should always protect you.” He let that statement hang in the air. And left out the bit about her never being his sister. In another life perhaps, but not this one. She deserved someone better than him. Not someone raised as a bastard, not a hard killer like him. She could do better.

“I should go, and let you… rest,” he says as he stand to leave. She stands with him. “You can’t sleep out there. We’ve only just begun to talk, and besides, I don’t think it’s a good idea to sleep amongst the men. You killed the men who wielded the blades but there are more plotters about. I’m sure of it.” Her tone became frantic as she said those last words. “I guess I could pile some furs in front of the fire and use Ghost as a pillow,” he shrugged and sat down to kick off his boots. 

She walked over to where he sat and nudged his legs open standing between them. Grey eyes met blue ones with unspoken love behind them. They wouldn’t acknowledge verbally what lay between them. But it was plain for both of them to see and it couldn’t be ignored.

Sansa ran her hands through his thick curls, he grabbed her hand and held it to his face, then he turned and kissed the inside of her hand. He stood up, chest heaving. “Sansa,” her name was like a prayer leaving his lips. He pulled away from her and the pain at the loss of contact was unbearable. “I can’t, we can’t. It isn’t… right. I promised to protect you. I can’t take advantage of you like that. I think you’ve got some things mixed up. And I know what it’s like to be alone. I wouldn’t dishonor you like that. I love you too much.”

Her shoulders slump. Maybe she imagined the way he looked at her, or the way he reacted to her touch. _Stupid girl. You ruin everything._ “I’ve always known how I felt about you. I spent years doing penance for a sin I’d never commit, but only thought about. Sometimes I would dream of you, when I was freezing when I first came here and beyond the wall. It was always warm in my dreams, you were always warm and soft.” He pick up a lock of her hair. “Kissed by fire,” he whispers. “Ygritte has red hair and blue eyes too. She reminded me of you so much. I suppose that made things easier for me.” He turned from her in shame then.

She stepped around him so that they were face to face once more. “Did you kill Janos Slynt?” She’s heard the men speaking but she needed to hear him say it. “Aye. I did. I gave him an order, it was one of my first when I became Lord Commander. He defied and disrespected me in front of the other men. A block was fetched and he lost his head.”

Her eyes flooded with tears but she was smiling. She threaded her fingers through his, and it was the most intimate thing he’s experienced. He felt closer to her now than he did when he was in the cave with Ygritte, or when he shared her furs. “Brave, gentle and strong,” she said.

Before he could ask her what she meant she said “in King’s Lansing, father and the King fell out and he wanted to take us home. I was such a silly girl. I was upset that I wasn’t going to marry the prince, and father promised me that there was someone brave gentle and strong, just for me. He went to his grave protecting you, but i wonder if the events in Kings Lansing had him reconsidering keeping you hidden. I wonder if you were the brave, gentle and strong person he spoke about.”

“Janos Slynt pushes father to the block where Illyn Payne took his head. So it’s fitting that you took his. I remember wishing a hero would take his head like they did father’s. And you did.” She put forehead against his chest and sobbed. She finally mourned her father, and mother. She cried for her brothers and Arya. She wasn’t able to do so because she wasn’t free to mourn them. They were all labeled traitors, and she was just a little girl in a den of lions. But here she was safe, and she let her emotions go.

He wrapped his arms around her as she dissolved into her sons. He held tight against her trembling, almost as if he wanted to take her into himself. The feel of him brought her so much sorrow and comfort all at once. The last time _anyone_ just hugged her was so long ago. She’d gone untouched and without love for years.

But they were both starved for love and affection. As much as his contact effected her, it effected him as well. He lived in the cold for almost 7 years. The only time he came close to a woman in that way, was under duress. It was survival, not lust or love at first. But this, this was pure and unsullied by plots or lies. He wanted to protect it and keep it for himself.

“Tomorrow you’ll tell me your story,” he whispered into the top of her head. He wanted to know how many people he needed to kill for hurting her.

**The Mockingbird**

He declined her invite to dine with the bastard. He needed to get her alone. If she wasn’t with him she was with Brienne of Tarth. He would remedy that. Sansa must have forgotten that she owes her life to him. All she needed was a subtle reminder that Cersei still considered her her sons murderer. She should fall in line. The bastard still presented a problem.

Bastard he may be, he’s still the last son of Ned Stark. Why didn’t he die? That’s what had been plaguing him all day. He’d heard of the lord of light and men coming back from death, to hear it is one thing. To see it, another.

For a bit he thought they botched the attempt and he’d managed to survive. But all accounts are the same. His wounds were fatal and he lay dead in the courtyard below not even twenty four hours before. How many Stark men must he kill. The first two had been for his Cat, this next one is for Sansa, but not for Love. For what she represents, The North. He will wed and bed Sansa as a proper _Fuck you_ to the memories of Brandon Stark, Ned Stark and The Bastard and take Winterfell. With the Vale and the North, he would be that much closer to grasping the throne.

He left his chambers to slink around and listen to everyone and everything, but was taken by surprise at the two black brothers sat outside his door. “Gentlemen,” he greeted and passed them. They waited a few beats and started to follow him. Petyr knew they followed him. The dilapidated castle creaked and cracked with each step anyone took.

He made his way to the great hall and found the new acting Commander sat at a table with some of the other men. “Lord Commander,” he bowed a little too graciously. “Lord what’s it again?” Edd asked rudely, on purpose. “Baelish, and I came to inquire as to my status here. It seems I’m being followed. Am I your prisoner?”

Edd scoffs, “Prisoner? I could hardly think of a reason for us to hold you against your will.” He opened his arms in a benevolent motion but his eyes were hard. “You May leave Castle Black whenever you choose, my lord.” Petyr stiffens. “And about the men following me?” He asks testily. “Guests have the honor of being protected by men of the Nights Watch. You’ve never been more safe in your life,” Edd says as he turns away from him and tells some joke that ends in boisterous laughter, effectively dismissing the little man with the big title.

**Sansa**

He had wanted to sleep in front of the fire. But Sansa barred the door and convinced him to sleep on the bed with her. She still didn’t fully trust that he would get up in the night and leave her alone, so she had him sleep on the side nearest the wall. He would have to climb over her to get up. Sleep hadn’t found them yet. They both lay on their sides facing each other, close enough to touch, but not.

They just lay together, looking in each other’s eyes. Jon’s eyes searched her face, committing every feature to memory, while she traced his silvery scars with her eyes.

The room darkened as the sun dipped low in the sky, the only sounds in the room were the soft crackle of the fire and their breathing. Soon their eyes grew heavy, and sleep claimed them, only for them to dream.

_Sansa sits sewing quietly by a fire in the Lords chambers at Winterfell. She looks down and sees the swell of her belly, placing a hand there and smiling. The door opens and in walks Jon with a small girl. Her hair is the same curly black as his and she knows. “Papa I don’t want to go to bed. I’m not tired. Aunt Arya promised she’d take me riding tomorrow,” the little girl pouted. “But you have to sleep my love. The as the sun takes its rest, so should you. How else do you expect to keep up with Arya?” He said, mouth twitching in a vain attempt to hide his smile._

_The little girl looked to her Sansa, “Must I, Mother?” The little girl seemed an expert at pulling their heart strings, and her purses lips made Sansa laugh out loud despite herself. “You must little one,” and with that Sansa set her sewing aside and and took her from Jon. Placing her on her feet._

_Their daughter turned to nuzzle her belly. “Goodnight baby,” and they walked through the door._

_The scenes changed and suddenly they were in the Godswood, Jon and Bran waiting for Sansa to approach. Bran’s voice booms inside and all around them. “Who comes before the Old Gods?” “Sansa of House Stark, Queen in the North, A Lady, true born and noble.” Her voice rings on the chilly winter air._

_“Who comes to claim her?” Bran continues._

_Jons’ voice is loud and sure when he says “Aemon Targaryen, rightful King of the Six Kingdoms.”_

_“Who gives her away?” It’s at this point that Sansa looks to her right and notices the young man holding her arm. He looks to her and winks his eye. The same shade as hers. “Rickon of House Stark, her brother, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”_

_Just then Bran peers at both of them, and they are inside the dream but apart of it at once. He speaks directly to them._

_B “You know what you must do. Gather your forces and march for home as soon as you can. Kill the Mockingbird, and claim your birthright, Aemon. Let the people know there is a better option than a Mad Queen and a foreigner.”_

_“Bran?” Sansa questions. “How are we here? What is this?” She asked. “I’m not Bran… Not really. I’m something else now, and you have to listen to me. The dead March, and things have to happen differently this time.” Jon watches as he gets a faraway look in his eyes._

_“What do you mean ‘this time’?” Jon asks, a hint of steel in his voice. Bran sighed. “In another life, Sansa married Ramsay Bolton, he tortured her until Reek helped her escape, and murdered Rickon at during the battle for Winterfell.” He looked to Jon, “The lords named you King in The North and you sailed for Dragonstone to ask for the help of your Aunt Daenerys Targaryen. You trusted her, and you fell in love.” Sansa’s face darkens at that._

_“She came and helped you win the battle against the Night King, but then you marched South, and she burned the capital. You never knew who you were. But this time around knowledge is power. You need her dragons, but not her, for you are of the blood of Old Valyria and can control them on your own. The boy Jon Snow was killed, now, in his place stands Aemon Targaryen.”_

_“Bide your time here, gather the Wildlings to your cause, convince the Knights of the Vale that this is their war too, but you mustn’t march until word reaches that Stannis is defeated. He marches now.”_

_“Aye, he left not long ago, but I’m to just let him die?” Jon asks. Bran says nothing, so Jon continues, doubtful, “The Wildlings agreed to help me fight the Night King, not the Bolton’s.” He looks to Bran for answers. “They owe you their life,” is all he offered. His cold tone saddens Jon. He remembers the boy with bright eyes who always loved to climb. The boy who followed him and Robb everywhere, in his place was a shade of who he used to be. He couldn’t stop the tears that came._

_“This life is different. Your murder didn’t happen in the last life until Sansa escaped Ramsay, in this life she never married him. The trauma she suffered in that life made it impossible for her to trust you, to love you. I’ve changed that. But you still must see exactly what kind of monster you’re facing.”_

_Suddenly they’re back in the Castle and they watch from afar as Ramsay takes Sansa violently on her wedding night. They see him torture Theon, and kill his lord father, they watch as he feeds his good mother and brother to his hounds, they watch in horror as he releases Rickon, only to shoot him down like game._

_“Now you know. Do what you must.”_

They awake to an incessant pounding on the door. Jon blinks his eyes at the invading light streaming through the window. Sansa scoots off the bed to let him get up and go to the door.

It opens and in walks Tormund and Davos, he eyes them suspiciously with a devilish smirk on his face. “ I didn’t know you southerners fancied your sisters,” he said and Davos looked at him in sheer annoyance. “Lad, we need to make some plans. I saw Baelish sinking about the castle last night. He’s up to something.” His eyes go from Jon to Sansa and their shared bed.

“Jon, if I may?” He asks cautiously. “You may not Davos, not until you hear what we have to tell you.” He motions for them to step inside. Davos tuts thoughtfully, and allows him to close the door.

“I’m already weary of saying this,” Jon starts. “I know I can trust you, and you Tormund, with my life. That’s why I’m telling you this.” He takes a dee breath and tells the secret his uncle died keeping.

“Well the Little Crow was born a king. Doesn’t surprise me. But you were a King before you knew it, isn’t that right? You earned the loyalty of the Freefolk, and though we will not kneel, we will follow you.”

Davos blanches and goes pale. “That means Stannis isn’t the rightful King.” Jon shakes his head. “Robert won the throne through conquest, but it was a rebellion based on lies and treachery. I don’t think he will concede so easily, he may even try to have me killed. Truthfully, I have no desire to rule, but I have a feeling I may not have a choice. The seven kingdoms aren’t a priority, defeating the dead is, and until then I want to continue as Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell. Do you understand?”

Davos bows his head “Of course, Your Grace.” He says. “And lose the Your Grace bit, Davos.”

“Yes of course, You’re-Jon.” Jon tights the urge to smile. “Well I guess it’s ok if you steal her,” Tormund says motioning to Sansa, “She’s never been your sister eh?” He barks a loud laugh and claps his hand on his shoulder. All Jon heard was the way that echoed what Ned said to him in another realm. “She never was your sister.”

He looked to her _Aye she wasn’t, she was always so much more._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, major time jump. I want to push the plot along. Jon and co go to the wildling camp, they speak to yohn Royce about Littlefinger and some Jonsa fluff, finally. Next chapter is the last chapter @Castle Black and the real plotty plot takes form.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An execution and a wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I said this chapter was the last castle black chapter and I lied. We haven’t left the castle yet but I promise we will. And soon. I haven’t even gotten to them rallying the wildlings yet. Ahh I’m such a summer child with my lofty ideals knowing damn well I have A LOT of shit to cover.

Yohn Royce was summoned to the Lords’ Chambers shortly after midday. “You asked for an audience My Lady?” He said as he took a seat across from Sansa at the table in the solar. “Yes, Lord Royce. I had hoped we could talk of pressing matters concerning Lord Baelish.” She watched him closely for any reaction, and for a moment his features darkened.  
“He’s not my favorite person, but he has taken great care and interest in Lord Robin. Which I am most grateful for, as he is a most difficult child.” She smiles at him, “I remember quite well, Lord Royce. But I did not call upon you to talk of pleasantries. I have a confession Lord Royce but I ask that you try to be empathetic towards me.” She was beginning to get nervous. No matter how she went over this scenario in her mind it did not end well. She feared his reaction, truthfully, but this was a vital step in their plan. They had to detail all of Baelish’s crimes to move forward. “Lady Sansa, I knew your father, he was an honorable man, I’m sure anything you’ve done, was done to survive, considering all you’ve been through. Come now, lets get on with it,” he said.  
“Baelish pushed my aunt Lysa through the moon door.” She sat quietly for a moment to let him digest the information, also, anticipating his next question. “Forgive me, My Lady, but we questioned you, and you said she was distraught and threw herself down. Forgive me if I do not understand, but how is it that he murdered her, and you lied for him. She was your kin!” he said loudly. She flinched. “I’m sure you know the circumstances that led me to the Vale My Lord. So, you know that I was held prisoner in King’s Landing and wed to Tyrion Lannister against my will. You also know that I was named in the murder of Joffrey? Petyr manipulated me. I was isolated from anyone and everyone who ever loved me. My aunt was a stranger half mad with jealousy. Now I see that it’s Petyr that manipulated that situation as well.”  
She paused to gauge his reaction, and saw his posture starting to soften so she continued. “The day Aunt Lysa was murdered, Littlefinger kissed me. I believe he knew she was somewhere where she could see. She then summoned me to the great hall. She accused me of being pregnant, she accused me of sleeping with him, and then she dragged me to the moon door and threatened to throw me out, and she would have, were it not for Littlefinger’s convenient timing. He stopped her, and then he said ‘I only ever loved one woman. Catelyn,’ and he pushed her to her death.”  
He shook his head in disgust. “I knew it. Mad though she was, she would have never left Robin. She loved that boy. He was her world.” He sat shaking his head.  
“But that’s not the only crime he’s guilty of. Before he pushed her, Lysa got him to admit it was them that Killed Lord Arryn. I also believe he’s having young Robin poisoned. He intercepted a raven from my aunt Lyanna explaining that she wasn’t kidnapped and that was the catalyst for Roberts’ Rebellion. He betrayed my father in King’s Landing, and it was him that plotted to have Joffrey murdered. Lord Baelish is indirectly responsible for the murders of my uncle and grandfather, for the deaths of Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen, My father, mother, brother and possibly my siblings. I want him to pay for what he’s done, but he’s Lord Protector of the Vale, the Knights of the Vale answer to him. And we will have need of them in the wars to come.”  
Royce leaned over and said “ That’s merely a formality my lady. The Knights will not move unless Robin says so, Littlefinger has his ear, yes, but Littlefinger is here and Lord Robin is in the Vale. There is nothing stopping you from seeking justice. I’ll not stand in the way, and once he’s disposed of, I will have Lord Robin’s ear.”  
Sansa exhaled a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Thank you Lord Royce. I have another appointment in a few moments, but you are always welcome at my table to sup at any time.” She said as she stood in an attempt to dismiss the old Knight. “Thank you My Lady. I may one day take you up on the offer.” The smile he gave her was a genuine one that reached his eyes and she was glad to see it. “Please send in the Lady Brienne, My lord, and thank you again.”  
She sat down as Brienne entered the solar. “Lady Sansa,” Brienne nodded. “Hello Brienne. I just wanted to talk to you. To see how you are faring amongst the men.”  
“All is well My Lady. I have no complaints. It’s not much to do, so I spend my days training Pod and sparring with the big red wildling. He’s uncouth but a solid fighter,” she says awkwardly. Sansa swallows a giggle. It was common knowledge that Tormund pined for Brienne. Either Brienne was oblivious or an expert at playing oblivious, but even a blind man could see that Tormund was hopelessly and completely infatuated with her.  
“Yes, he is quite the character isn’t he?” she says with a smile. “I asked you here because there is to be a trial,” she said as she pretended to look over papers on Jon’s desk. Brienne only nodded, her signal to continue. “Lord Baelish is to be tried for murder. But before we do so, I have a delicate task for you.” Sansa said. “ I am your sworn shield, ask it of me, and I will see it done.”  
“I need you to uncover Littlefinger’s latest plot,” Brienne raised her brows and started to protest but Sansa rushed on.

“I think he plans to have Jon killed. I don’t know how I know, I just know it. He’s betrayed me many times, he’s responsible for the death of my entire family and I will not let him take Jon from me. He can’t be killed until we discover what his plans are, so that we may stop it. Can you do this for me Brienne?” She all but begged.

  
Knowing that the lady’s sense of loyalty was cut and dry, she didn’t know if this was a task she would readily accept.  
“The man sets my teeth on edge, my lady. But we’ve been here going on three turns of the moon, and we have yet to share a single word in passing. I fear that his cunning is so that he would know something is off.” Sansa didn’t realize Brienne was proficient in the ways of courtly scheming, but she was impressed.

“You’re very astute in your observations of the man. But all you’ll need to do is speak ill of Jon within his hearing, and do it often. He will think you an easy mark. He will take you into his confidence believing you an ally, then he will try to execute his plan after he already cast the blame on you.”  
Sansa watched Brienne and she saw the same look on her face whenever Podrick managed to disarm her in the training yard. It was pride. She smiled in earnest. In truth it took her, Jon and Davos weeks to plot and plan, and Sansa argued fiercely to keep Brienne away from this. But Jon said that Brienne would be the only believable option because she is so damn honorable. They spent many tense hours disagreeing before Sansa finally relented. In this particular moment, she was glad she saw sense and finally relented.  
“I never liked the man. He always looked at me as if I were ruining his plans, and perhaps I did,” she looked at Sansa and said “I would be honored to do this for you.” Sansa nodded and stood up to see her out. “Thank you Brienne. You can start sewing the seeds of discord today.”  
Once Brienne left, she sat down by the fire with needle and thread and did the one thing that brought her comfort and cleared her mind. She would sit and sew until Jon joined her for their midday meal, it had a become a routine of sorts for them. Jon would get up early, train and see to the men. She would look over the stores and go over the books of the Castle. They would then meet and break bread. Just the two of them. They would part again only to take dinner in the solar as well. Occasionally, Edd, Tormund, Davos, Brienne and Pod would join them for an informal supper. But they never ate in the common hall. It was much to do with Jon wanting to keep her away from the men as it was him not trusting them and keeping himself away as well.  
Jon and Sansa had used the time to get to know each other. They talked about any and everything. Jon wanted to know everything about her, and she told him. There were no secrets between them. They were bonded by trauma when they first reunited, but now their love was built on trust, mutual understanding and respect. They had yet to physically manifest their love, much to Sansa’s objections. She was eager to take that final step, but Jon was steadfast in not taking her maidenhead until they were wed. She smiled when she recalled the night they had that conversation.  
She had just slipped into a sleeping shift, her hair and skin scented from the lavender oil she used and still damp. She chose to forgo small clothes that night because the burn in her belly was just too much. She pleasured herself beneath the water but that only stoked the fire instead of snuffing it out. By the time he entered their chambers, she was beside herself with desire.  
He probably smelled her on the air. He took one look at her and knew what she wanted. It pained him to hold himself back, she knew it did so she had hoped that her forwardness would be enough to sway him. It wasn’t. She moved to unlace his jerkin and he caught her hands.  
“Sansa, what are you doing?” He asked as his eyes searched hers. “What we both want. Don’t you want me Jon? I felt you this morning, when you thought me asleep. I watched you as you finished. Your eyes were closed.” She could smell him he was so close. He smelled of earth and pine and snow and Ghost. He smelled of smoke and sweat. He smelled like home to her. She took another heady breath of him.  
He claimed her lips in a punishing kiss. “Aye I want you. I’ve always wanted only you. But I will not dishonor you before we’re wed.” He said as he pulled himself away from her.  
“If you intend to wed me, what does it matter if we claim each other now or later?” She asked. “It doesn’t work like that Sansa and you know it,” he said defeated.  
“But why?” She whined. When he turned to her his eyes were swimming with unresolved heat and tension and he all but growled “Because when I take you, you will be mine, in the eyes of the Gods. When I fill you with my seed I will know that our child was conceived in a marriage bed, not out of lust, but out of love and devotion. I want to do right by you, and I will. But it will be When.We.Are.Wed.” He said with finality. His lips quirked before he spoke next. “But there are other things we can do together.”  
That was the start of them pleasuring themselves together. That had also become routine, but Sansa soon grew tired of diddling herself in front of him. She wanted her hands to be his hands, she wanted her fingers to be his throbbing member inside her. But he never relented. Gods. She lamented to herself just thinking about it. She needed this business with Littlefinger to come to an end so she could become a woman wed and bedded already.  
Jon  
He and Tormund were in the yard for almost two hours sparring with sword and shield and then spear and shield. They disarmed each other and were now going at it hand to hand. He rounded on Tormund and swept him off his feet. He pinned him to the ground. “Yield!” Tormund continued to fight back. He used his long leg to knee Jon in his ribs then bucked him off. They both jumped back to their feet, fists squared looking for an opening.  
“Baby Crow hasn’t sheathed his sword in some time, so now he wants to pick on poor Tormund.” He teased. “Shut it, and you’re hardly defenseless, slayer of giants,” he shot back. Tormund straightened. “I’m tired and you’re a mad fuck if you think I’m spending any more time with you here. There’s a big woman I need to see about.” And with that he walked away and left Jon standing there. “You’re more likely to impale yourself with an actual sword than you are the Lady!” He yelled after him.  
He was in a bad mood. It took everything in him not to act on his desires with Sansa. She always smelled so good. Her mouth tasted like the cinnamon or peppermint sticks she chewed. He wanted her. And if the tightening in his breeches were any indication, he wanted her now.  
He took to training for long hours to try and release some of the pent up frustration. He took himself in hand so much he was surprised he had any seed left to spill. The relief it brought him was fleeting. If he was being honest, his reluctance had nothing to do with her honor or his.  
He was raised a bastard. Always reminded by the lady Catelyn of how low he was. He was taught to be humble, not to want much and to expect even less. Sansa deserves better than him. She was raised to be his better. And she was better than him in every sense of the word. He knows who he is, but is nothing next to a lifetime of conditioning. He had come to view his existence as a stain on his ‘father’s’ honor and a smear on his family’s name. Learning he was true born, and a king did nothing to quell his anxiety and feelings of worthlessness.  
Sansa was perfection, and he was scared he would fuck it up somehow. So he denied her, and he denied himself. His resolve was wearing thin.  
Almost a fortnight had passed since Sansa brought Brienne in on their plans and every day she met with Sansa there was nothing besides insults to report. He tired of this cat and mouse game and he was tempted to find Baelish to thrash and murder him right now.  
Every time he told Sansa this, she would patiently remind him that sticking to the plan would ensure his survival. So he relented. It was queer how she could soothe him when murder was on his mind.  
He went to the straw man and attacked it with newfound energy, scattering straw everywhere. He looked at the sun in dipping in the sky and decided on a few more strokes before he met Sansa for supper. He expected Brienne to be there tonight as Sansa had requested her. He knew a bath and fresh clothing waited for him. He hit the dummy one last time, returned his sparring sword to the armory and dragged his sore body towards the chambers he shared with her.  
The Unknighted Knight  
“I find it odd that they share chambers,” she whispered over the din of the men in the Great hall. She looked around in a feint attempt to see if anyone could be listening, she had a part to play and play it she would.  
“Yes, quite odd indeed. I wonder what they’re playing at? You seem to be a frequent recipient of their hospitality, you dine with them sometimes, am I correct?” She was prepared for this. Every time they talked, he always mentioned how much time she spent with them. “Well yes. I am her sworn sword. When she requests my presence, I go to her, although I think she finds comfort in having another woman around.” She tells the lie easily, she’s even shocked at how readily the lies come off her tongue. But she reminds herself that this is for her lady. And it must be done.  
“You are a most unconventional lady though. I can’t imagine what you two would have to y’all about,” he presses.  
Brienne knows the man is no fool, and he’s looking for any chink in her armor. She gives him none. “You’re right, My Lord, we don’t talk of sewing, or silly fancies. We talk of battle strategy to take back her home, or sometimes we speak of her mother. I was sworn to her before she was murdered. I was charged with taking the Kingslayer to Kings Landing in an exchange for her and her sister, but the rest is history as they say,”  
He regarded her for a moment before continuing. “What if I told you that I have evidence that the bastard plots against your lady? What if I told you that he plans to take Winterfell in her name and then when he’s named Lord, he plans to kill her?” She plays right along.  
“I would say if you had proof, then it’s my sword that will take his head.” He smiles. “Oh, there’ll be no need for you to sully yourself with that, My Lady. I’ve employed a most reputable establishment to take care of the bastard.” He said triumphantly.  
“May I ask what establishment you speak of My Lord?” He chuckled. “You’re a very interesting lady. You May ask, but should I tell you is the question. Can I trust you my lady?” He’s playing a game and she knows it.  
She smiles wickedly and says “You shouldn’t trust anyone My Lord.” He laughs audibly this time and says “You’re beginning to grow on me, and I can’t trust you, but I ask myself what do you have to gain, and what could you possibly want. And all I see is someone fiercely loyal to the lady Sansa, and the way I see it, if you’re loyal to Sansa then you and I are of the same mind,” he looks around and then continues. “ The Faceless men are who I’ve commissioned to kill the bastard Jon Snow. They are terribly expensive but they always get their man. I just have to wait and see.” He smiles wickedly, thoroughly proud of himself, and takes a sip of his ale.  
Brienne plants a false smile on her face, “Why you clever, clever man.” She says.  
This is bad. Bad bad bad. She thought as she tuned out the rest of his conversation and the din in the room.  
The Collective  
Sansa, Jon and Davos sat in the solar awaiting Brienne. She sent word by Pod that she would be joint them tonight after her liaison with Baelish.  
Sansa was tired of this game, her nerves were frayed and her patience was nonexistent. Finally, there was a knock at the door.  
Brienne was let in and the loom on her face was all she needed to see to know whatever it was was bad.  
Sansa stopped her before she greeted everyone properly. “No need for the formalities, Brienne, what did Baelish say?” All heads turned to her in anticipation. “I’m afraid it is as you say my lady. Baelish said he has the Faceless Men in his employ to kill Jon, as his first attempt to kill him failed. It took some plying but he admitted that he paid ser Alliser to kill Jon. But before he told me that, he said that he has proof that Jon plans to kill you after Winterfell is won and claim the castle as his own.”  
Davos sucked in a loud breath. “Fuck me,” he said running a hand over his head.  
“What the fuck is a Faceless Man?” Tormund asked. It was Davos who responded.  
“They’re from Braavos, and they use some kind of magic to use human faces as disguises to kill their marks. And they are deadly fuckers. They kill quick and silent or slow and painful, but once they’re given a name, the only way to stop it, is to give them a different name,” he looked to Jon, “You’re fucked.” Jon got up and paced the room.  
“You should have let me kill him when you told me he intended to sell you to Ramsay, I wouldn’t be facing my own death again.” He said sadly.  
“Where is he now Brienne?” Sansa asked. “I left him not an hour ago in the Great Hall. I doubt he’s still there.” She said.  
“Tormund, get some men and secure his chambers, Brienne I need you to find Lord Royce and tell him the time is now. This ends tonight,” Jon said.  
The Mockingbird  
He was proud of himself. With his next move he would remove two players from the game. The bastard and that monstrous woman who doesn’t know her place. He just had to bide his time and let events play out on their own. He would sit back and watch the chaos unfold. He sat sipping his ale, reveling in his impending victory when he was approached by Lord Royce, who was flanked by two Vale Knights.  
“My Lords, to what do I owe the pleasure of such esteemed company?” He drawls. Royce rolls his eyes “Stand up Baelish and lets not make a scene,” he says. Peter wasn’t prepared for this, he always prided himself on being three steps ahead of the game, somewhere along the way he fell behind.  
“You seem to be confused, I’m Lord protector of the Vale, and I’ll be shown the respect that’s fitting of my station,” he says as the knight grab him roughly.  
“Indeed you shall,” Royce replies.  
Sansa  
Chairs were brought to the platform in the courtyard that Jon made use of the last time he took heads. Here she sat with him, Edd, Tormund and Davos. She watched with indifference as they dragged a struggling Baelish to the courtyard. One of the Knights kicked him and forced him to kneel.  
“Sansa, my love, my darling, what is the meaning of this?” He cried in desperation, knowing his life was at stake. “Your many crimes Lord Baelish. Why else do you think you’ve been dragged here?” She asks icily.  
“What crimes do you speak of? I’d never harm you. I’ve always been good to you,” he pleads.  
“By good do you mean betraying my father? Or do you mean when you poisoned Joffrey and let them blame me for it?” He stuttered, not able to find the words.  
“You stand accused of the murder of Lord Robert Arryn, his wife Lisa Arryn, And King Joffrey. You stand accused of plotting to start the war that killed my father, mother and brothers. You stand accused of intercepting a raven intended for my late uncle Brandon, which started Robert’s Rebellion. You stand accused of plotting to kill my cousin,You stand accused of trying to sell me to the Bolton’s, Do you deny it?” She said as her voice hardened.  
“Sansa please, I loved your mother,” he begged.  
“And yet you betrayed her,” she said as her tears fell. “Everything I did I did for love of you,” he said, his voice escalating to a high pitched whine. “And yet you betrayed me,” she said. “Chaos is a ladder, you’ve said so yourself, and you have climbed very high, only to fall. I’ve given you a chance to proclaim your innocence and you saw fit to declare your love,”  
“I PLEDGE THE BLACK,” he screamed. “I pledge the black , I pledge the black.”  
Jon slammed his fist against one of the wooden beams. “No,” he said it so quietly, it sent chills through everyone. “I hope you spent this morning watching the sun rise, my lord, because I can promise you that it was your last. And what a shame it would be if you spent your last day, plotting instead of finding the joy in the simple things of life.” He stalked down the steps, each step slow and deliberate. As he walked he peeled off his gloves, and shrugged off his coat. “Fetch two swords, and make sure they’re edged. I’m not training.”  
A puddle formed beneath Littlefinger and melted the snow where he stood. “Oh, you’re a craven too? Interesting.” Jon tutted. “I PLEDGE THE BLACK!!!” He screamed again. “We heard you, my lord and your request is denied.” He looked to Edd as he said it and Edd nodded. “Aye, we won’t have you,” he said.  
Jon looked at the pitiful pile of a man before him and smiled. It was a terrifying sight to behold. “They won’t have you,” he said as he shrugged. “You pride yourself on knowing everything, but I know something you don’t know,” he said teasingly. He leaned over until his lips almost brushed his ear “ I’m no bastard. I’m the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna and as you hear it, you know it’s true,” he whispered so no one could hear the exchange but the intended ear.  
Jon feels pure joy at the look of shock and defeat that crosses his face. “You see, we can’t allow you to live, you would find more ways to plot and destabilize the realm. You will die this day. But how you die is up to you. You can reveal all your plots and lose your head to a nice sharp blade, or you can fight until you die. And it will be slow and painful, I will hack at your limbs with a full blade, and I will leave you to bleed out in the snow, the same way the men you hired left me.”  
“I already know of the Faceless Men,” he said . “So you know that killing me makes no matter, you’re already a dead man. I’ll not say a thing.” He looks to Sansa, “You Starks have already taken from me everything I’ve ever loved. Get on with it,” he says bitterly.  
“Lord Baelish, for the crimes previously listed, I sentence you to die.” Jon looked at the sword and the dull blade, and he found even that was too good for him. He took the pommel in his fist and smashed it against his face, knocking him on his back.  
Jon straddled him and pummeled his face. He felt teeth and bone give way, and he kept punching, he punched until blood, bone and brain flew in bits in the air. He punched until his hand throbbed and then he punched with the other hand. He punched until all that remained of the mockingbird’s head was skin and jagged bone, his brains leaking in the snow, painting it pink and red and crimson.  
It wasn’t until he heard her voice that he stopped. He stood up and walked away, not wanting her to be tainted by this moment. He turned back “Burn him,” was all he said and kept going towards the Godswood.  
Jon  
He cursed when he saw everyone cross the clearing of the Godswood. He sat with his back to the same heart tree he took his vows at. He looked at Sansa and ducked his head in shame, refusing to meet her eyes. She took her finger, put it under his chin and raised his head, forcing him to meet her gaze. “I love you,” is all she said and it’s all he needed to hear in that moment.  
She sat down next to him and took some snow in her hands and used it to clean his. “You can’t marry me with the blood of a traitor on your hands,” she said.  
He looked at her and couldn’t believe what she was saying. “No Sansa, not like this. This isn’t your dream wedding. I know you’d want a fine dress and dancers and music. Your wedding should be a celebration. Not,” he waved his hands around “whatever this is. I want to give you all you deserve,” he finished.  
“You know nothing. I was wed in a fine silk and brocade dress in the Great Sept of Barlow, I had a fine feast, but what I didn’t have was the man of my choosing. I didn’t have someone brave, gentle and strong. I didn’t have you. I want you and I don’t care if I have on silk or homespun, I don’t care if it’s in the dark, in this strange place with only four witnesses. I want to be your wife Jon, I care about the marriage, not the wedding. I’m not that silly little girl anymore.”  
He grabbed her and held her as if his life depended on it. He was shaking, and she thought him cold, but when she heard him whimper she realized he was sobbing. Her tears started then. And they held each other for a while longer, both crying and trying to soothe the other.  
Tormund cleared his throat loudly. “Can we get on with it, I’d like to freeze my balls off, and I’d be needing them, I’m going to give the big woman many strong sons,” he jokes.  
“Would you shut the fuck up?” Edd said. Jon barked a laughed that echoed throughout the Godswood and filled Sansa’s heart. They stood up and Jon whispered to her “this isn’t the dream.” She smiles, “I know, we can do it again when we get back home, but honestly, I’ve waited long enough.”  
“Who comes before the old gods?”  
“Sansa Of House Stark, a woman true born and noble.”  
“And who claims her?”  
All looked to Jon. She nodded, telling him now was the time. “Aemon of House Targaryen.”  
“Who gives her?”  
“I come to this marriage on my own. I give myself, this is the man I choose, a man no one has chosen for me.”  
“Do you take this man?”  
“I take this man,”  
“Do you take this woman?”  
“I take this woman.” They smiled at each other.  
“Well kiss her already.” Davos said.  
Jon put his hand behind her neck and kissed her deeply. She was his finally. When he opened his eyes and pulled away, her cheeks were wet with tears, and her eyes still shone with those yet unshed. He brushed them from her cheek with his thumbs. “Happy tears for a happy occasion. I promise to only give you happy tears of I can help it,” he vowed. “I know husband, now take me to bed,” and she giggled as he lifted her up and carried her all the way to their chambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope you enjoyed the execution. I really hated that show canon took until the end of season 7 kill him. His ass shoulda been dealt with like in season 5. I wrote the wedding that way because jon was ashamed and he didn’t feel worthy of Sansa. I needed her to validate himo by choosing him after she saw the darkest parts of him. I like to think she was kinda turned on by it. I’m changing the rating to explicit after this chapter. You’ve been warned. Lost of smutty smut,


	6. Sometimes, I don’t recognize myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We check in with a girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey peeps! This isn’t so much as a chapter but an interlude. I hope you enjoy.

**No One**

There were little constants in a girl’s life. The only ones are pain, hunger and itching. If the blindness didn’t rob her of her wits, the itching would. The lice and fleas crawled and bit incessantly, resulting in torn and scabbed skin on nearly every inch of her body- save her face.

Her face was the waif’s project. When she wasn’t hungry, or itching, the waif brought her pain. Her staff struck hard and true, and without a girl’s eyes she was rendered powerless and at the waif’s mercy.

Today was another such day. Her arm ached from holding her beggars bowl and her stomach twisted painfully.

The force from the blow knocked her back, she heard her coins scatter on the stone. She felt around for her staff in an attempt to block the next strike.

“Who are you?” The waif demanded. Scrambling along the stone, a girl’s hand closes around the staff and she quickly jumps to her feet, spinning around in a wide circle. “A girl is no one,” she replied. She hoped the waif would say something else, give her a clue as to where she may be, but the next strike came lightning fast to her gut and pushed the wind from her lungs in a brutal punch.

She spun blindly again, swinging her weapon in a futile attempt to block or strike, _anything._

“You lie.” This time, the strike hit her on the back of her neck and she screamed in frustration, swinging wildly once more.

Her staff was halted mid swing and her heart galloped in her chest. _So this is how I am to die then._ She was almost grateful at the thought. At least she wouldn’t be hungry anymore.

“Who are you?” It was Jaqen. Had he come to kill her? She thought as her heart hammered in her chest.

“No one,” she called out, blind eyes moving back and forth in her head.

“If a girl says her name, a man will let her sleep under a roof tonight.”

“A girl has no name,” she said. “If a girl says her name, a man will feed her tonight.” Her belly clenches at the thought of a meal.

“A girl has no name.” This was a test, she would pass or die, she knew that. “If a girl says her name, a man will give her eyes back,” he says. The thought of her sight was almost enough to have her cry out As girl is Arya Stark,’ but she know better.

“A girl has no name,” and at that a man let go of her staff and said, “Come.” And walked away. She followed the sounds of his footsteps but paused to gather her coins. “Leave it, a girl is not a beggar anymore.”

Days and weeks passed in a blur. A girl took beatings from the waif, prepared bodies for service to the Many Faced God, and learned her poisons. She played the game of faces with the waif, and had the bruises to prove it.

“Who are you,” the waif asked, yet again. “No one,” she takes a hit to her shoulder and falls to the floor, dropping her staff. The waif kicks it towards her. She grasps it and scrambles to her feet.

“Who were you before you came here?” She asks. “Arya Stark.” Another savage hit. “Tell me about Arya Stark’s family.” 

“Ned Stark was her father and Catelyn Stark her mother. She had one sister, Sansa, and four brothers.” The waif strikes hard and true. A girl grunts and continues, “Three brothers, Robb, Bran,Rickon and a half brother Jon.” She braces for another strike. It doesn’t come, instead, another question.

“Where are they now?” She answers quickly, “They May be dead, for all a girl knows.” The waif eyes her suspiciously. “Tell me about The Hound.”

“Also dead.” Another strike that leaves her lip bloody. “Arya Stark left him to die. He was on her list.” _Thwack._ Another brutal strike. A girl searches the mind of Arya Stark to find the truth in the lie. “He was on her list but not anymore, she had taken him off it.” She braces for yet another strike.

“Why? Didn’t she want him dead any longer?” The waif probed. “She did and she did not.” Was all a girl offered. “She sounds confused.” A girl nods. “Yes, she was.” The waif smirks. “Who else was on Arya Stark’s funny little list?”

A girl hesitated a moment too long and _thwack._ She groaned in pain. “Cersei Lannister, Gregor Clegane and Walder Frey.” A girl says, growing tired of this stupid game. “That can’t be everyone you want to kill.” _Thwack. “_ Are you sure you’re not forgetting someone?” _Thwack._

A girl screams, “Which name would you like a girl to speak?” A tough palm reaches out and slaps her so hard, she the coppery tang of blood fills her mouth. “I don’t want to play your stupid games!!!” She shouted.

“If a girls tells me her name, I will give her eyes back.” Jaqen says. “A girl has no name.” She waits for the strike that is sure to come. Instead she hears footsteps, and a girl follows him to where she knows the poisoned water is. She doesn’t care anymore. She can never be Arya Stark, they were all dead, and she couldn’t be No One, better to end it now.

A bowl is placed into her hand and she hesitates. “If a girl is truly No One, _she has nothing to fear.”_ He pauses and looks her over. “Who are you?” He questioned again. “No One,” and she turns the bowl and swallows it all in one gulp, praying for a release from this torment.

Instead the darkness recedes until there is blinding light. She blinks against the light and sees Jaqen standing before her. She’s overwhelmed that tears burn her throat, but she holds them back, because she is No One now, and No One feels nothing.

Jaqen handed No One a sealed scroll. “A girl has to prove that she is worthy of the power of The Many Faced God, open the scroll. You’ve been given a name.” She breaks the wax seal and unfurls the parchment.

 _Jon Snow_ is written. “Will a girl be able to use a face to offer this name up to the Many Faced God?” She asks. “A girl must be Arya Stark. And she must do this to find out his real name. The Many Faced God can’t use a face with the wrong name. When you learn this, and when the name is taken, then she will truly be No One.”

She accepts her task with a nod of her head and turns on her heel. She goes to her small sleeping chamber and lays down to a fitful sleep, and dreamt of snow, Weirwood trees and a raven with three eyes.

_She was running close to the ground. She had four legs instead of two. The cold air stung her nostrils with every breath, but she kept running. She was flanked by her pack, keeping time with and watching out for her. Her senses thrummed, she was close._

_She came to a clearing with the biggest weirwood she had ever seen. She neared it, sniffing at and around the thick roots. The Magic was all around her. She peered at the face in the tree and it reminded her of someone. Pack. She thought. It was then that the tree spoke._

_“It’s time to go home, it’s time to come North. A girl was never No One, she was always Arya Stark.” She sat back on her haunches and peered into the eyes of the tree. ‘Bran?’ She thought._

_“Yes, sister. I am here but not for long. We’re running out of time. You know what to do. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.”_

_His voice faded on the wind and she let out a mournful howl._

She was jolted awake, the cold still in her nose. “I’m Arya Stark, and I’m going to go home,” she whispered to herself over and over, like a prayer to the Old Gods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pretty much stuck to show dialogue with some minor tweaks here and there. I hope you enjoyed. Next chapter we return to Castle Black, our fave couple each have flashbacks of their wedding night, they rally the Wildlings and they start marching for Winterfell gathering allies. As always comments keeps my oil burning so if you loved it hated it, drop a comment. I answer back!


	7. And It all Came Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey peeps. So I struggled with this chapter. One thing that bothered me about the last three seasons of the show was how people seemed to teleport hundreds of miles and almost no time had passed. It manifested in the character dialogue and battle plans. I don’t like all the bits in this chapter but it was necessary to move the story along.

  


_They walked hand in hand through the snow back towards Castle Black. Every now and then he would turn to look at her, wondering what the Gods were thinking when they weaved the tapestry of his life. He came to The Wall a green bastard, he swore to take no lands or titles, he swore to never marry and father children. In a few days time, he would be leaving The Wall with the highest title, and a claim on all lands in Westeros, with wife in tow. His was truly a remarkable story. ‘Does a name change everything,’ he thought to himself. He looked to Sansa again. ‘Aye, it does,’ he thought as he smiled broadly._

_“What are you smiling at?” She asks with mirth dancing in her eyes. “I don’t know, I was just thinking that I would stand at the highest mountaintop and scream to the world that I am Aemon Targaryen, if it meant I could claim you for all to see.” He’s almost embarrassed to be so forward with her. He’s never been one for flowery words and kisses, but for her, he found himself wanting to write her love songs, and poetry about her hair._

_As much as he thought about her, he could probably tell her she was beautiful in a thousand ways. “I was yours when you were still Jon Snow. I don’t need you to be a king. I need you to know that. It only matters because in the eyes of the other Lords, we would be no better than the Lannisters.” She said. He barked a laugh that echoed in the woods around them. “Well I guess the Targaryen’s also have it for their siblings as well,” he said._

_She stopped walking then and turned to face him. “I’m serious Jon. We can’t be found out until we have proof. Which is why we need to search Maester Aemon’s old chambers, and once we take back the North we need to send for Howland Reed.” She was always two steps ahead of him. He’d heard the story only half a thousand times. Howland was with Ned at the tower of Joy, so he had to have seen Lyanna with a newborn babe in a bloodied birthing bed._

_“You’re right Sansa, and I’m beginning to think you’re never wrong.” He took her hand in his and led her the rest of the way, past the gates and through the castle until they reached their shared chambers. The closer they got the butterflies in his belly turned into dragonflies. “If we are to remain brother and sister in the eyes of everyone, I think it best we wait. You’ll have me howling at the moon and everyone will know what we’re doing,” he said to her, barely able to conceal the desire in his eyes. She giggled softly. “I’m sure you can manage.” Is all she says as she unlocks the door._

_Once inside, they remove their cloaks. Sansa goes about lighting a few candles and once they can see, Jon gets a fire going. They are both reluctant to undress until the fire warms the chambers. They sit in nervous silence for a while, neither knowing what to say. But they can’t take their eyes off one another. Every now and then Sansa would turn her head with a bashful smile and her cheeks were flame red. Jon thought it was the cutest thing. He wouldn’t rush her. He would wait for her signal._

_He didn’t know much about her first wedding but he did know that it went unconsummated. He would take his time, and peel the petals of her rose bud with the most delicate hands. He planned to worship at her temple and drink from her fountain all night if she would let him. He wore his desire for her like a second skin. Just the thought of her body beneath him, the feel of her skin beneath his hands, her breath hitching as she reached her peak, threatened to have him spilling in his breeches. His member strained against them._

_It seemed as if she could sense his thoughts because she stood and started untying the laces on her gown. “Here, let me,” he offered as he stood. He covered the distance between them in half a step. Coming behind her, he swept her hair to one side and kissed her behind her ear. He continued to plant kisses on her neck as he undid her laces. His kisses moved to the middle of her neck and down her back as he slid her gown down past her shoulders._

_Sansa was trying to keep quiet throughout his tender attentions. His lips were hot and soft and slightly wet. His trail of kisses made her skin break out in gooseflesh. She had gone without his touch for so long that the heat pent up in her dripped from her mound. She was a mess and he had yet to take off one item of his clothing. She shivered and pressed her thighs together to create some friction and give her some relief. Her gown fell to the floor in a swoosh of fabric._

_She turned to him then and his eyes roved over her body like a starving man facing a feast. He took her in the sight of her. She stood before him bare from the waist up standing in nothing but the thin small clothes covering her sex._

_He moved to pull the cord that kept the undergarment on her waist and she stilled his hand. “I’d like to see you as well,” she said softly. He complied. He undressed slowly. Removing his jerkin and sword belt. He toed his boots off, unlaced his breeches and pulled the tunic over his head._

_She gently traced his scars and planted kisses on each one, his bulging member bobbing with every kiss of her lips and stroke of her hand. He pulled her close to him, so close she could feel him poking into her belly. He brushed his lips against hers, softly at first, but then she deepened the kiss. Opening her mouth and letting his tongue in. She groaned into him and he scooped her up and carried her to bed._

_He lay her down gently and proceeded to worship her dusty pink nipples that tightened at his attentions. She was coming undone, writhing and moaning softly. And Jon lost himself in her. His tongue snaked it’s way down her stomach and her soft moans started to become deep and throaty._

_He looked up at her “ I can hardly say you’re managing,” he said with a devilish grin and returned to his task. He went even lower, past her belly button until his tongue brushed the fabric of her small clothes._

_He growled in frustration, the next thing Sansa heard was fabric ripping as he shredded the barrier between him and the place he desperately needed to taste. She sat up not knowing what he intended to do. “What-“ he sat up partway and placed a finger to her lips. “Lay back, love. I want to see you.” And she did._

_“Gods you are so wet already.” He put his face flush with her sex and inhaled her heady scent. She was sweet and earthy and he had to taste her. He parted her folds with a delicate touch, but before he dived in, he took in her beauty. She reminded him of a red rose, petals wet with morning dew._

_His hot tongue made her feel as if she were floating above herself. He circled her bundle of nerves slow and deliberately. He paid attention to her body. When her breath hitched, he repeated his movements, when she stilled he explored further. She liked when he took her entire nub in his mouth and suckled like a babe at the breast. Before long he had her lifting her hips to meet his tongue with her hands wrapped in his hair. He knew she was close when her bud throbbed in his mouth, he rode the wave and carried her over to the other side._

_Her peak took her hard and fast, it started where he suckled her, then a heat spread out in her belly and over her body. It reached her toes, causing them to curl as her body trembled and bucked._

_She was breathless and she needed more. Her core ached with emptiness and she needed him to fill her up. She pulled him up her body and fumbled with his laces. “Easy love, we have a lifetime, I intend to make tonight last,” he whispered in her ear._

_He leaned over her and took in her beauty. He loved her. Looking at her, in his bed now, he realizes it was always her. “I love you more than I can ever tell you, more than you’d ever know. We swore to each other at the heart tree but right here I don’t think we could get closer to the gods if we tried.” He said as he positioned himself to take her. “I will never forsake you Sansa, I will never lie to you. I will never hurt you intentionally and if I do, I would spend a lifetime making it up to you.”_

_His words shift something in her and the tears flow freely. “I know, and I would do the same. Over and over.” Their lips meet again, this time in a kiss that conveys all the love and passion they possess for one another. He can’t wait any longer so he pushes himself into her and a sharp moan escapes her just as he comes to the barrier that makes her a maiden._

_He leans over slightly, careful not to breech her barrier just yet. “Are you ready?” He whispers in her ear. She can’t manage a word so all she does is nod. He bites down on her ear, not so hard as to cause pain but hard enough to distract her when he pushes himself into her, claiming her as his, and going deep._

_She hisses with the burn but after a few seconds the pain gives way to pleasure as he starts to move inside of her. He grinds his hips against hers in a circular motion, never pulling himself out, but stroking that sweet spot deep inside her. She rakes his back with her nails and the sensation is sweet to him. It spurs him on._

_He hooks her legs in his elbows and continues to work that spot as she moans deep and low into his ear. “You. Are.Mine.” He stutters as he moves within her. “Say it.”_

_She tried but she couldn’t find the words. There is no rhyme or reason to her thoughts, only that this feels so good. And she never wants it to stop. She starts to move beneath him to match his stroke as he starts to move in and out of her. “Say it Sansa.” He pleads._

_“I am yours. Only yours Jon.” He quickens his pace and his hips begin to jerk uncontrollably. She feels him swell and explode as he paints her womb with his seed and collapses on top of her. He claims her mouth again and rolls to the side to allow her to breathe._

_“I’m sorry,” he says sheepishly. “For what?” She asked. She didn’t know what he was sorry for, but the things he just did to her body had her craving more already. She felt like a slattern. But it felt good to feel so wicked. She played in his hair as her eyelids grew heavy._

_“I finished before you, and I wanted you to cum again.” He said. “Oh. Well the night is still young, and I’m sure you know many ways to make me cum,” she said with a wicked grin._

************************************

“The hell you grinning about?” Tormund’s gruff voice snapped him out of his reverie.”You look like a blithering idiot. Snap out of it King Crow, you can daydream about fucking your wife when we’re not trying to gather an army,” he said testily.

They were all on edge. They had ridden to the Freefolk camp at dawn to convince them to fight alongside them when taking back the North.

They spoke amongst themselves for a while and then the one who spoke for them approached their small circle. “We will not fight for your home. It’s not what we agreed to.” The one called Dim Dalba said.

Wun Wun the giant sat on a boulder not ten feet away from them, and a few of the Freefolk had gathered closer to listen. Dim continued his speech, “ We said we’d fight with you, King Crow, when the time comes and we meant it. But this isn’t what we agreed to.” He paused as he looked around to the Freefolk gathered. “These aren’t White Walkers. This isn’t the army of the dead. This isn’t our fight,” he finished.

Jon looked around the camp and saw many of the elders and warriors nodding their heads in agreement. He looked to Tormund, because if anyone could convince them, it was him.

“If it weren’t for him,” Tormund said pointing to Jon, “none of us would be here. All of you would be meat in the Night King’s army. And I would be a pile of charred meat, just like Mance.” He said as he looked around at the hardened warriors. They were tired, he knew that. But he also knew that they would be dead if they didn’t join their cause.

“Remember Mance’s camp? It stretched all the way to the horizon. And look at us now. Look what’s left of us,” he said voice rising. “Look what’s left of us, and if we lose this, we’re gone. Dozens of tribes, hundreds of generations. Be like we were never here at all. We’ll be the last of the Freefolk. That’s what’ll happen to you if we lose,” he finished.

That was Jon’s cue. “The Boltons, the Karstarks the Umbers, they all know you’re here. They know that more than half of you are women and children. After they finish with me, they’ll come for you.” He shook his head at the thought of so many innocents dying. “You’re right. This isn’t your fight. You shouldn’t have to come to Winterfell with me. I shouldn’t be asking you. It’s not the deal we made.”

He turns and makes eye contact with the foremost men standing about. “I need you with me if we’re going to beat them, and we need to beat them if you’re going to survive.

“The crows killed him because he spoke for the free folk when no other southerners would,” said Tormund. “He died for us. If we are not willing to do the same for him, we're cowards. And if that's what we are, we deserve to be the last of the free folk.”

No one said anything for what was only a few heartbeats, but to Jon, it felt like a lifetime. Suddenly Wun Wun stood And declared “Snow.”

“Are you sure they'll come?” Jon asked. Tormund looked over and with an arch of his eyebrow said “We're not clever like you southerners. When we say we'll do something, we do it.”

Battle Plans

They spend the next fortnight preparing for their journey into the northern mountains to rally the Northern houses that hadn’t already allied with the Bolton’s. Between the Freefolk and Vale Knights, they had a combined force of over 4000 men, and a giant. Which meant that they found themselves fretting over grain rations and the logistics of moving that many men .

The Vale Knights were well supplied, and the Freefolk would hunt game, but the march through the North to Winterfell would take just over two moon turns.

“I don’t want to push the men before a siege or battle,”Jon says, “at a modest pace, we can cover about ten miles in a day, in _good_ weather. The snows have already begun to fall, we have to think about fodder for the horses, not over hunting the wolf’s wood, it’s maddening.” He exhaled in frustration.

He was weary. For three days all they did was talk strategy and plan. And plan the strategies. More often than not, He, Tormund, Davos and Royce talked in circles. Their discussions often escalated to raised voices and fists slamming on the table, but they managed to work through.

“It’s called _War_ for a reason, lad. No sense in worrying over things with no remedy. You need to come to terms with the fact that we may have to thin the game in the wood to survive.” Davos said in a matter of fact manner.

“Stannis’ men boiled their boot leather and made a soup of it before I broke the siege lines with onions and salt beef. Could be worse,” he said as he shrugged.

Jon rolled his eyes in frustration. “That doesn’t help matters, and it is worse. How are we to keep 4000 men a secret on The Kingsroad, hmm? How are we to convince Old Flint and The Norrey to fight with us, alongside the Freefolk?” He rubbed his hand down his face and sat down hard.

“Why wouldn’t those kneelers fight alongside us, they’re more like us than not,” Tormund said in surly tone. “They have no love for the Freefolk Tormund and you know it,” Jon snapped. The sun had begun to set and Jon was grateful for it.

“Jon, if I may?” Brienne asks. Jon nods at her, rueful that anyone would prolong this source of stress any longer. “We need not march into the mountains. If we had a fleet we could sail to Bear Island, and along the coast, treating with the mountain clans,” she said as she looked at the map.

“It’s a good idea. We could go to Torrhen’s square from the Wolfswood and into the Barrowlands. Lady Dustin holds no love for The Bolton’s. She could be another ally,” Sansa offers thoughtfully. He looked to her, grateful for her input, “But we have no fleet,” he sighs.

As the evening wore on and each suggestion turned into problems he didn’t know he had, he was ruefully aware that they were underprepared.

“I may be able to contact an old friend. ‘‘Twas his fleet that brought Stannis’ army North to save you from the Freefolk, Lad.” Davos said. “If he’s not dead, I may be able to convince him to sail once more,” Davos said. “See it done, Davos.” He stood from the table and swept his gaze around the room as he said, “On the morrow then boys,” he turned to Brienne and nodded “My Lady.”

He offered his arm to Sansa and they left for their chambers. Once inside he toed off his boots and went about starting a fire. As he worked he listened to Sansa humming softly as she readied herself for bed. “Are you brooding?” She asked. He sighed. “I might be,” he called back. She chuckled and continued with her nameless tune.

“You know, we could ask the Manderlys. They could sail along the east coast until they reach Eastwatch by the Sea. We could march and board the ships from there,” she said plainly.

“You seem to have this well thought out. Tell me this, how can they sail past Winterfell and the Dreadfort without being noticed?” He was testing her, she was sure of it.

She hadn’t thought of that, so she chewed her lip for a moment. “I never suggested they hug the coastline, and even if they did Winterfell is hundreds of miles from the coast, as is the Dreadfort. If they are out far enough they can go undetected. Besides, the Bolton’s don’t have a fleet to pursue them anyway.” He smiled then, “No they don’t, but the Ironborn do, and they are a force to be reckoned with. Especially on the sea. Their ships are fast and deadly.” He waited for her response, thinking he had successfully presented her with an unsolvable problem when she says, “You’re right, that’s why I’ve already sent word to Asha Greyjoy that if she allies with us, we will pardon Theon for his crimes against House Stark and let her take him home, if he still lives,” she said.

Jon’s mood changes. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he says quietly. “Jon, we need allies. We need experienced fighting men that are already armed and armored. We have to make some compromises to get our home back. It’s not ideal, but I had nothing else to offer her.” He looks away from her towards the fire. “He’s the reason the Bolton’s hold Winterfell in the first place. He made Bran and Rickon flee, he killed Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrick,” he seethed. “I would see him suffer and die slowly for what he did to our family.”

She stands in front of him now in just her shift and she bring her hand to the back of his neck, he nuzzles her stomach and she hold him there for a beat. Clicking her tongue she adds “ One life for so many innocent ones? Theon should suffer with the knowledge that he betrayed our family for the rest of his days. Killing him only releases him from the burden of guilt, and it does nothing to make you feel better either. I needed to offer him, and he may be dead by the time we get there.” She said with a shrug of her shoulders.

He looks up at her with a smirk, “so you have it all worked out?” He said as he nipped at her skin through her shift. She giggled softly. “Almost all worked out,” she says. “Sansa I may not be as smart as you, but please, before you send ravens and make plans, tell me. I’m not asking you to ask for my permission. I’m asking you to trust that _I_ trust your judgement. Even if we disagree it’s only because I can see something you don’t.”

He searches her face and she nods her head in agreement. “I understand.” She said as she looked in his eyes. “The men are getting restless, and we may be ready to march in a few days. How long do you think it will take for us to get word if the Ironborn or the Manderly’s will come.”

She pulled back. “The Manderlys will come, they are sworn bannermen to House Stark, and Asha Greyjoy is already sailing up the coast. I expect her to be at Eastwatch within the next twelve days.”

He sat quietly for a moment lost in his thoughts trying to work everything out. “You solved the fleet problem for us, but we still need to get to Bear Island, which is in the opposite direction of Eastwatch. I don’t want to waste time trekking back and forth,” he sighed.

“We won’t. You, myself and Davos will leave for Bear Island either tomorrow or the day after. The three of us riding hard can get there and back in 4 days give or take.” She said as she started removing his jerkin. She planted kisses along his neck and the blood rushed to his cock almost instantly.

He groaned and pulled her close. “I smell. Badly. I was in the yard for almost three hours today. I need a bath.” She smirked. “I rather like your smell after a long day of training. It’s distinctly you, and” she bent her face to his neck and dragged her nose along it and down towards his collarbone, “it gets me wet.” She grinned wickedly at the sight of Jon with his mouth hanging wide open.

“You can wash your hands and splash a bit of water on yourself. I have a few things for you,” she said as she led him by the hand to their bed chambers. “What can you possibly give me that you haven’t already?” He asks and he stops short when he enters and sees a huge trunk of polished ebony wood with the targaryen sigil carved into it and painted in red.

“I know you wanted to go through Maester Aemon’s chambers, but you were so busy I honestly thought you forgot.” She said waiting for him to respond. He didn’t so she added quickly “I haven’t opened it, I left it for you.” She said quietly.

Jon closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath. He didn’t know if he was ready to open that trunk, he didn’t know if he was ready to read the words of his _father,_ and what if the maester knew who he was all this time? Would he feel betrayal at being denied yet another family bond.

“Thank you. But right now I don’t want to read old letters,” he said, eyes darkening with desire. No. It could wait until tomorrow. Right now he wanted to lay Sansa down and fill her belly with his seed. He claimed her mouth in a brutal kiss. She groaned into his open mouth and he held her fast to him.

He pulled back and punched her nipple through her shift as she fumbled with the laces of his breeches, he helped her and soon they each stood naked in the room. Jon got to his knees and threw her leg over his shoulder and groaned as his nose neared her already dripping mound. “Gods, you’re always so _wet_ for me.” He latched on and suckled her. She had to grab his shoulders for balance but he held her by the swell of her bottom, one hand on each cheek gently kneading the flesh as he suckled her into oblivion. Sansa felt her peak rising in her belly and her body tensed up, ready for that now familiar rush of release.

Jon knew she was close, her nub started to contract and jump wildly in his mouth so he sucked a bit harder and brought her over the edge, bucking and moaning low in her throat. It took no time at all and he was a bit disappointed she came so fast. He wanted to make it last.

Finally she could take no more and pushed him away. He stood up, face glistening and she claimed his lips. Tasting herself on his lips did something to her and she felt herself pushing him onto the bed. “No, don’t lay back, sit on the edge,” she commanded. “Sansa what are you-“ his words were choked off as she sheathed his bulging cock in her hot mouth. He had to swallow a groan as he felt her relax and almost take him fully into her throat.

She bobbed up and down, swirling her tongue around the tip as she increased the suction, then relaxing a bit every time she took him deep in her throat. The low rumbles coming from his throat started in his belly and it made her clit throb with want. With every stroke he praised her “ Yes, my love,” or “Oh sweet girl you’re making me feel so good” or “gods love like that” and it made her arousal pool inside her and before long it was dripping down her legs.

She wanted to tase him on her lips as just as he tasted her, so she kept her pace, listening to his cues. When his hips started to buck and his hand tightened in her hair, she placed her hands on his hips and stilled his movements. She wanted to draw it out of him nice and slow. She felt his cock throbbing in her mouth and instinct made her reach for his stones and take him as deep into her throat as she could manage, she looked up at him, expecting his eyes to be closed but they were fixed on her, pools of greyish black desire and his mouth open in a silent scream.

As they made eye contact he stuffed his fist in his mouth and she felt the pulsing of his release and his salty sweet seed hitting her tongue and throat. She groaned around him as her mouth filled with the taste of him and she swallowed all of him down, releasing his cock with a wet ‘pop’.

She licked her lips fiendishly and he pulled her on top of his still hard member. He punished her lips with a savage kiss and found her entrance in one swift motion.

He took her hard and fast, grabbing her hips and pushing her to his pace. He assaulted the mound deep inside of her that made her cum like a fountain. He stroked it over and over until he had to cover Sansa’s mouth as her cries reached a high pitch. “Shhhhh. You’re going to wake the entire castle,” he said still pumping and moving her in time. “Gods, I can’t help it, you’re so deep and it feels so good,” she whispered loudly.

He grinned to himself feeling good that he could make her come undone this way. He flipped her on her back and hooked both of her legs over his shoulders. “Don’t make a sound Sansa,” he warns passionately. She nods her head but the look in her eyes set him on fire.

He rocked into her and stroked that spot, watching her face twist in ecstasy, and she let out a soft mewl. He stilled immediately. “No noise, love,” he said directly into her ear. “But I can’t,” she whined. “I have to breathe,” she said. He shook his head, still fully sheathed inside her but not yet moving. “You have to, I plan on taking you every night on the way to Winterfell, and if you don’t learn to take it, everyone will think I’m fucking my sister into oblivion,” he started to move again and she bit her bottom, lip turning her head. “No,” he said as he turned her head towards him. “Look at me, I want to see your face when you cum.”

He went deep and Sansa’s eyes closed on instinct. “Look at me,” Jon pleased. And she did. It was almost as if he was pouring out all his love into every stroke, he wanted her to see him loving her. Sansa reached out and cupped his face. As he went deep into her, her breath hitched but she made no noise. Silently she mouthed “I love you,” to him. “You’re gripping me so good love,” he moans into her ear, and she whispers back, “no noise Jon.” He quiets and pulls out abruptly.

She whimpers at the loss of contact but he lowers himself and parts her folds. His cock throbs at the sight of her, swollen and glistening for him. He places a kiss on her bundle of nerves and she twists in the bed.

He wanted her to cum in his mouth again. He pulled her hood back and circled her clit with his tongue until her body was as taught as a bow string. He stroked the inside of her with his fingers and when she did cum she soaked his beard and the bed linens with her river of desire.

He climbed up her limp body and lay flush against her. “You are mine,” he said. “Yes, and you are mine,” she answers as she brushed his curls from his eyes. He entered her slowly and rocked into her, gradually picking up his pace as they both neared their peaks. Sansa clamped on his cock as they came together, Jon, painting her with his seed, their lips on one another, gripping each other as if their lives depended on it.

They lay entangled in one another as their breaths slowed, falling into a sleep of dreams.

_Jon sat astride something impossibly hot. It wasn’t a scalding heat, but it kissed him through the cloth of his breeches and small clothes. He gripped great spikes before him as the wind whipped at his face and hair. ‘I’m flying’ he thought. He looked down and noted the green and gold scales of the beast he rode, and chanced a look around and behind him. He felt the powerful muscles working in rhythm beneath him and saw the great wings flapping._

_Jon looked down and saw the frozen earth beneath him, he saw the castle of Winterfell and the Army of the Dead approaching from the Wolfswood. ‘Kepa, they come’ the thought nudged his mind and he knew it came from the beast he rode._

_He urged it to land and all of a sudden he was on all fours padding through the Wolfswood. He smelled a familiar scent and followed it, coming upon a clearing, his red eyes met green. ‘Pack.Brother.’ He thought._

_The black direwolf approached him slowly, hackles raised and teeth bared in a vicious snarl. Jon edges closer, whining as if to say ‘It is me, brother. Don’t you remember?’ The black wolf circled him slowly, sniffing the air around him in an attempt to place the familiar scent. The Black wolf stopped and took in the sight of his brother. He put his head down and whined a bit before running to tackle him playfully. They rolled around, playfully nipping and nuzzling each other when a young man’s voice rang out. ‘Shaggy, where’d you get to boy?’_

_The young man who came into the clearing approached the direwolves hesitantly. Jon didn’t recognize the man at first. He was dressed in furs from head to toe, with a bow strapped to his back, and an axe and sword on his belt. He looked like one of the Freefolk. Not Until he looked in his eyes and saw they were the same shade as Sansa’s and saw the ruddy auburn hair peaking out from under a fur cap did he realize he was looking at Rickon._

_Jon froze and got to his feet. The young man froze dead in his tracks at the sight of the direwolf, ‘Ghost?’ He questions in a much smaller voice than the one he’d just used. He held out his hand and Jon padded over to him. Nuzzling his hand and bumping his chest softly. Jon wanted very much to hug him with human arms, but he settled for wrapping his body around the young man, who, the last time he saw him had only just seen his eight name day._

_‘Can you take me to Jon?’_

_***********************************_

_Sansa stood on the battlements of Winterfell and Bran was behind her._

_Sansa stood on the battlements of Winterfell with Bran in his wheeled chair. “House Mormont will not break faith with House Stark, Asha Greyjoy already sails for the island. She will gather Lady Mormont and her sixty two fighting men to meet you .” He explained.where the mountains meet the Wolfswood..” He explained._

_“But what of the other houses?” She asks. “Do not waste your time with House Glover, or The Barrowlands. They’re needed later. For now, you have what you need to bring us back here, you must trust me. I know what we did wrong last time, and I’ve done things differently this time around. I have more time to become the Three Eyed Raven. When you have taken Winterfell, my journey home will begin.” He said as he smiled at her, and in that smile it was her little brother Bran she saw. Not the magical being he had become._

They awoke to the sun streaming across their faces. Sansa sat up and kissed him full on his lips while she climbed over him to go wash his stickiness off and dress for the day.

She splashed her face and shocked fully awake by the iciness of the water. She made quick work of cleaning her bits and dressing as the fire had gone out during the night.

Jon groaned loudly and sat up. “Gods it’s cold,” he said as his feet touched the floor.

“I had the strangest dream,” she said aloud. “Aye, me too,” he said as he washed himself. “But you first.” So Sansa told him of her dream and all that Bran said.

Fully dressed he stroked his beard thoughtfully. “That saves a lot of time and resources, not having to trek to and fro,” he said and she could tell he was pleased. “Your turn,” she said teasingly as she braided her hair.

“Well at first I was flying and it took me a beat to realize I was riding a green and gold dragon. And it called me _kepa._ We were bonded. I could sense the dragon loved me and was fiercely loyal to me, and I loved it as well. And then I was in Ghost in the woods outside of the castle here. I saw Shaggydog and Rickon,” he finished quietly, leveling his eyes at her.

She gasped and and dropped the vial of oil she had in her hands. “Are you sure Jon?” He he stood and went to her, taking her shaking hands in his. “I’m sure that I was seeing Rickon through Ghosts’ eyes. And it explains his absence over these many days, Ghost is bringing him here, I know it.” He said. They finished dressing quickly and Sansa looked to the Targaryen trunk that sat at the foot of the bed. “Are you going to open it?”

Jon looked away from her, not wanting to tell her that he wasn’t ready to read the words of his sire. For his whole life, he had lived by his father’s teachings, wanting to prove to him that he was worthy of his love. To find out that man wasn’t his father altered his sense of self.

He was drowning and it manifested itself with him second guessing himself, being easily irritated, and unnecessarily short with others. Sansa was the only thing keeping him grounded, and he hated himself for placing his burdens on her.

He knows he shouldn’t depend on her for his well being, but she’s all he has at the moment. The only saving grace in these turn of events, is that he was able to be _with Sansa._ She connected to him in his old life, but the future he saw with her was everything he never allowed himself to want and more.

Seeing her fussing about, oblivious to him, he suddenly reaches out and catches her hand. He draws her close to him and kisses her, desperately and deep, “Come what May, it is always you and I,” he whispers against her lips. He broke the kiss and they set about the business of travel and battle.

They were busy being loud and talking over each other when two horn blasts interrupted their last council before they set out. “This can’t be good news,” Tormund curses as he stands and swings his axe around.

They all stand and make their way to the courtyard. Jon signals for the gates to be opened and standing behind them is Ghost, Shaggydog and Rickon, who was mounted on some queer horned goat creature.

As soon as Jon and Rickon see each other, Rickon dismounts and Jon vaults to him. Sansa just stands there, overcome with emotion, and watched them embrace. Her hope, her joy and grief, her relief, all those feelings come out of her eyes. Before anyone knows it, she’s audibly sobbing.

Rickon and Jon rush to her. Rickon reaches her first. He touches her face, then he picks up a lock of her hair. “You look just like her,” and then he clutched her and sobs, like a little boy who just learned he was orphaned.

Tormund was sniffling and Davos had gone misty eyed, while Brienne stood as stoic as ever, looking away to give them privacy. The three of them walked back towards keep huddled together.

“What happened to you Rickon?” Sansa asked. The boy they knew as their baby brother stared blankly for a moment before he said, “It’s a long story, and you’ll hear of it while we march home.”

Jon felt as if he had been gut punched. “How do you know of our plans to go home?” Jon asked. “Bran,” was all he said.

The tension in the room was palpable. “What else did Bran tell you?” Rickon huffed. “That you would need men, so I brought them. That you and Sansa would have something to tell me, when you we’re ready, and that no matter what it was I was to always remember that the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.”

“ I had to convince the Skaagosi chieftain to give me command of some of his men,” Rickon said as he flicked a dagger between his fingers. “How did you manage that Sansa asked.

“ I was raised there by Osha among the tribes. I gained a reputation as unbeatable in combat with _any_ weapon since my thirteenth name day. They fed me well, and I grew strong. Then one day Bran came to me and told me the time would come when we would be home again but I had to do my part. Meet you here with fighting men. So I did,” he finished.

Jon went to him and embraced him again. “Now that you’re home, no one can contest the rightful Lord of Winterfell and warden of the north. We have to keep you safe, and away from the battle when the times comes,” Sansa said.

“I have no desire to be Lord of Winterfell, but as it’s Lord, it’s my duty to fight for my home. I’m quite good at it,” he added with a wink.

Jon barked a loud laugh, and before long they were all laughing together.

The next day at dawn, they set out for Winterfell.


	8. The March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They march and plan and meet people on the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I struggled with this chapter as i had a ton of shit I wanted to cover and I didn’t really know when to end the chapter, as you can probably tell. I may go back and change some things but i wanted to get it out. I’m working the next 6 days, 12 hour shifts so I wanted this chapter to be a bit longer, as the next update will be next week some time.

He was weary. Three weeks of riding left him irritable and saddlesore. Fighting amongst the Freefolk, Mountain Clans and Skagosi had him ready to tear at his hair. Just last night one of the Norrey’s took the ear of a Freefolk lad because he didn’t like the look he gave him. The Freefolk demanded recompense, and Tormund agreed, rationalizing that since the lad had been maimed, they were owed a body part in return.

Jon knew if he didn’t do something, and soon, they would end up murdering each other, or worse, a mutiny. His army was falling apart, soon there’d be no army, he thought.

Night was nearing, so they marched on and sent scouts ahead to find a place to camp for the night. With over five thousand fighting men and a little over 2000 non fighting women, children and elderly, it was no easy task.

The sun dipped low behind the mountains as the scouts returned with news of a valley clearing about 2 miles down the line. Jon gave the order for the men designated as builders to ride double time for the clearing, so that trenches could be dug and a perimeter set up.

He turned to Sansa, “I’m to dig with the men, love,” he said as he ducked his head. She knew he needed this time every evening to be alone with his thoughts, so she offered no protest as he rode ahead with them to lend his back to the work.

He needed to think, but he also needed the time to be productive. The men respected a leader who could get his hands dirty. Hours in the saddle and strategizing would leave Jon soft. He wouldn’t have it, not with a battle looming ahead of them.

He hopped off his horse, shed his cloak and picked up a shovel. He moved between two posts which should have been dug by ten or fifteen men and set about his work.

It took all his strength to break the earth, but soon enough he fell into a steady rhythm. Before long his back ached and sweat stung his eyes, and he was more than halfway done. The other men were making progress towards him and now was as a good a time as any to stop. He led his horse towards the center of the camp, where the generals pavilions were being set up.

The foremost pavilions belonged to the members of his inner circle. Tormund, Davos and Rickon. For proprietary’s sake, Sansa, Brienne and three Freefolk spearwives charged with being her guard shared a tent. Lord Royce camped with his knights, as did the First Flints, Norrey’s and Wull’s.

The baggage train with the rations and other supplies were surrounded in the center of camp well guarded. The trench had been finished and the spikes were filling it. In less than an hour, the camp would be complete and it would be easily defended if it were to be attacked.

“How is King Crow today?” Tormund called out, walking towards him. “Better. I think I have a solution to the violence that’s been happening,” Jon responded. “Well, lets have it,” Tormund said impatiently. “Starting tonight we will pair mountain clans with freefolk and Skagosi to patrol the camp.” He waited for Tormund’s reaction, seeing that he wouldn’t get one, he continued. “It goes like this, they go in two hour shifts six men for each side of the wall.” He explained.

“Ok I’m almost listening,” Tormund nods. “So One man from the mountain clans with one of the Freefolk and one of the Skagosi will patrol the Norteast section of wall, the same for the northwest section of wall. Same on the southeast and southwest sections of wall. They have to work put aside their differences for the sake of their people. It should work. We find friends on the battlefield, I think this could work.”

“So you’re finally starting to use that pretty little head of yours. Bout damn time,” he said as he clapped Jon on the back hard. “I want to send pairs of men out at dawn tomorrow to hunt together too. I will threaten to hang any man that does violence. The threat of death was always a good motivator.” With that, Jon left Tormund standing there to carry out his orders as he walked to join the others by the fire just outside of the pavilions.

He came upon Sansa, Brienne and the spearwives having some bawdy conversation, if the bright red shade of Brienne’s cheeks were any indication. Sansa nursed a mug of ale in her hand and her face was flushed. A smile still danced in her eyes as she saw him.

“Welcome,” she said happily. “My ladies,” he acknowledged everyone, but only had eyes for her. “Would you join me for a walk?” He extended his arm for her and she readily accepted. “Ladies, we can pick this up when I return,” she said. As they walked away, Osha eyes them curiously. ‘ _Who knew these southerners fancy their sisters so,’_ she thought as she turned the venison on the spit.

“I wanted to show you something.” She only nodded, leaning into his shoulder. He smelled of earth and sweat, leather and wood. She inhaled deeply, reveling in the scent that was distinctly him. They walked a bit more until they came upon the camp for the women and children.

They walked the paths between tents and stepped over children, passed women skinning animals or washing. The camp swelled with everyday life and her heart swelled to see it. They stopped near a young girl nursing a brand new babe.

“Cara,” he said nodding in the nursing girls’ direction, “just delivered three nights ago.” Sansa’s heart clenched. She remembered the child and her full with another in their dream. “How do you know of her, of her babe?” She asked.

He smiled sadly, “I’m responsible for every life here, and every life is important. The strongest and even the weakest among us matter to me, Sansa. I brought you here so that you could see what we’re fighting for. This battle with the Bolton’s, is but a means to an end. And the end game is the Night King. That’s the only fight that matters for now,” he said gravely. “We fight for the living, Sansa. So that our children have a future, so that Arya and Bran night find their way home,” he finished.

She looked at him with unshed tears in her eyes, “You were always the best of us,” she said. “It’s one of the many reasons I love you.” He squeezed her hand in response, and they continued on their stroll. “Now I know why you fought to have them encamped with the main army. To keep them safe,” she remarked.

“Aye, I couldn’t see the sense in taking the men to guard their camp, if they faced a true attack two hundred men would make no difference. I needed them close, and this is a reminder to all why we fight.”

“You’ll be the best King since Jaehaerys,” she said softly. He sighed. “I’m not meant for a throne Sansa. I just want you and our family and the North. I’d never leave if I could help it,” he said. She smiled to herself. “The one who wishes to rule, shouldn’t, the one who doesn’t want to rule, should,” was all she said as they walked back towards their pavilions.

The smell of the venison and flat bread Osha fried on the black stone had their bellies rumbling. They each took a spot by the fire as Tormund was telling another one of his tall tales for the hundredth time.

“-and after I killed him, his wife suckled me at her teat for three months. She thought I was her babe. That’s why I’m big and strong,” he said as he flexed his muscles, “Giant’s milk.” And with that he made eyes at Brienne, who looked mortified.

“Lady Sansa, if you’ll excuse me,” she said as she got up. Pod scrambled up behind her and she stopped him saying, “Enjoy the night, Pod. I can manage my armor.” He looked grateful, Jon didn’t think he could get his boots off without falling face first. Tormund looked dejected and took another long swig from his horn. “She’ll be mine, one day,” he said.

Osha tolled her eyes. “You big oaf. Better you turn your eyes to a woman who would appreciate a big man like you. You could never steal that one, and I bet she’s more like to kill you, than let you have at her. Better than most men with a sword, she is,” she said as she sipped from her mug.

“And you,” she said to Rickon, “You have the look of someone who’s drank unicorn piss. What’s with you?” She asked.

Jon and Sansa smile at each other over their mugs, and it’s not lost on Rickon how they look at each other, or how Jon helps her on and off her horse, and the way they find excuses to walk off alone. He stares hard, first at Jon, then his sister.

Feeling the tension Sansa stands,“It’s been a long day, I have some letters to look over. I bid all of you goodnight, and will someone see to Pod,” she motioned to the man who was keeled over and snoring as she got up, leaving only Tormund, Davos, Jon, Osha and a sleeping Pod around the fire. Jon followed her with his eyes until she disappeared into the tent.

“Sister fucking isn’t something that you kneelers are fond of, so you might want to stop looking at her as if you want to mount her every time you see her, if you want to keep fucking her that is. Because I ‘spose the rest of your _Lords_ wouldn’t take kindly to that sort of thing, now would they,” she said as if it was common knowledge.

“What,” Jon started but she put her hand up. “Don’t bother denying it. I saw her slip into your tent two nights past, heard the noises too,” she said with a smug grin.

Jon’s blood ran cold at the look Rickon gave him. “I didn’t want to believe it, but I see the way you look at her, and I see it plain as the North is cold. I wish Father or Robb could see this shit.”

“Rickon, you don’t understand,” Jon starts.

“You’re right- I don’t understand how you could fuck your sister.”

Osha looks from man to man with barely concealed amusement. “I knew it.” She laughs.

“Jon you need to tell the lad.” Davos said as Rickon moved closer to Jon, his thumb hooked around the handle of his axe, while Jon’s hand rested lightly on Longclaw. “There’s nothing he can say to me, old man, that would make this any better,”

“Eddard Stark wasn’t my father. I have Stark blood through my mother, Lyanna. Rhaegar Targaryen was my father.” Jon said quietly.

Rickon looked to him angrily. “No. Father said you were his bastard,” and Jon flinched at the word. “Mother, she-she hated you for it. She used to tell me things. To make me stay away from you. But I thought you and Robb were the most brave and strong brothers in the world. And I wanted to be just like the two of you.”

He looked away then, he couldn’t bear to look at Jon. “But now you call _our_ father a liar, to justify whatever this madness between you and Sansa is.”

This time, the look he gave Jon was ice cold, “Sansa May believe your lies, but I don’t, and I’ll not allow you to dishonor her with your perversions, _bastard,”_

Jon felled as if he had been struck, taking several steps back. Rickon’s words cut deeper than the blade that pierced his heart and killed him. “You don’t understand, remember, you said Bran told you to try and understand whatever it was we had to tell you, and this is it. Eddard Stark wasn’t my father. He claimed me as his own to keep me safe.

Robert Baratheon had Elia and her children butchered and he swore to kill any Targaryens yet living,” he paused, “You know how honorable fath- Ned was. How could a man like him sire a bastard? Hmm Rickon? It doesn’t make sense and it never did.” He neared him, approaching him as one would a horse for breaking, “Look at me Rickon,” he said as he removed his cloak and jerkin in the chill air, exposing his tunic. “Look at me,” he pulled his tunic over his head, bearing his chest and the fatal wounds for him to see.

“I was murdered, and I saw them. Ned, Lyanna and old Measter Aemon. They told me who I was. And it felt _right._ As right as I’ve ever felt.”

Rickon looked at his chest, still refusing to meet his eyes. The sight made him recoil. “How did you make it back?” He asked, voice trembling.

“Sansa brought me back. The red woman had tried, but I warged into Ghost and I refused to come back. I was tired of fighting. I did what I thought was right, and they killed me for it. I thought I’d nothing to come back to,” his voice catches with emotion, “but then she showed up and she saw me there, dead, and she mourned me. I wanted nothing else than to comfort her, and I found my way back to her.” He leveled a gaze at Rickon that stilled him. He put on his tunic and started walking towards his tent. “I would have you join me, so we can talk further,” he said as he walked away.

Rickon looked to Osha, “Don’t look to me boy, go on then,” she said.

Davos chugged the rest of his ale, “Well I guess I’ll be getting to my rest then,” he said awkwardly. “Come Lady,” Tormund said. “I shall tell you a tale of a King in bastards clothes who died and returned a God.”

She looked to a snoring Podrick, “What of the drunk one?” She asked. “What of him?” Tormund replied.

Rickon sat alone staring into the flames. He didn’t know what to think, but he hoped the men who betrayed Jon were dead or worse. Feeling conflicted, he got up, preparing himself for the hard conversation he knew the three of them needed to have.

Sansa sat upon Jons’ bed in an inviting pose, naked as her name day, with nothing but a fur draped loose over her shoulders. She saw the tent part and smiled when Jon tucked in but froze when a look of embarrassment crossed his face as Rickon stepped in right behind him.

“Gods Sansa!” He shouted seeing her in this way. He turned his back, “can you get decent please?” He asked. “Can you step out so I can?” She answered back, clearly put out. He was gone before she finished the thought.

She looked at Jon, who looked mortified as she shrugged into her dress. She made to step into her small clothes when he grabbed them and sniffed hungrily. “Leave them off,” he growled. She swallowed down her desire and arranged her hair just so, as Jon stuffed her garment in his trousers.

She nodded for him to call her brother back in, as she took a seat at his desk. As vain as an attempt as it was, it gave her some comfort to have a little control over the situation.

Rickon walked in and said nothing, looking to Sansa, searching her eyes. His look unsettled her, and when he looked to Jon, it chilled her blood, it was better to just have at it, than dance around the subject, so she began.

“So, it seems you figured out our circumstances before we could tell you ourselves,” she said nervously. “You were always were smart as a whip, even as a little boy.”

He whipped his eyes to her, “Don’t,” he warned. She took a deep breath, “Jon, fetch Aemon’s trunk.” The look of confusion he had was almost laughable, almost. “This is not how I wanted to do this Sansa. _If_ there is anything in there pertaining to me, I wanted to keep it close for a little bit,” he sighed. Her face left no room for argument, so he retrieved the trunk.

There were a few leather bound books and scrolls stored inside. Jon notes that the trunk was curiously heavy so he removed the books and scrolls gently as some were old.

They all peered in and took a collective gasp at the red and white scaled dragon egg, nestled in black and red fabrics, and alongside it, Wrapped In the deepest crimson velvet sat a sword. The warrior in Jon didn’t need to unwrap it to know what it was. The blade and hilt were slender, for a woman’s hand.

“Bloody hell, is that a _dragon egg?”_ Rickon asked. Sansa rolled her eyes, “ _Obviously.”_ He nudged her, their playfulness as siblings out. “I didn’t think there were any left,” he explained.

Jon reached out reverently and put a hand on the egg. It was warm to the touch. He wanted to unwrap the sword, but thought better of it.

“Sansa, look for anything with the Targaryen seal on it,” Jon said, it was in vain, for she was already to the task.

They poured over the scrolls, most were tally charts and replies from Northern lords with word of aid or men.

There were several that looked as if they were sealed in blood, a raven as the seal. He felt a foreboding energy coming from those, so he set them aside.

In a small voice Sansa said “I think I’ve found something,” her voice shook as she began to read.

_Uncle,_

_I write this on the eve of battle, for I fear this may be our final correspondence. Forgive me. I have failed at the task you set before me. Instead of uniting the Realm against the threat, I have only succeeded in fracturing it._

_I left Elia and my children at the mercy of my father. Lyanna, alone in our Tower of Joy in Dorne. Even if we succeed in battle, I shall miss the birth of our child. But if I fall uncle, I need you to see to it Lyanna’s family reaches her first, I fear what Robert will do to this child of mine._

_She is my heart, she is my world. She is my future. Even without the prophecy, I know she was always my destiny. I’ll never forget your words uncle. “What is honor compared to a woman’s love?” The answer is I would forsake my honor, my name, my titles for her love._

_I asked it of her, when we rode from Riverrun. To run away with me across the Narrow Sea and never look back, but she refused. She said the man she loved would set things right, would fight for the honor of our love. If only we had known Then what we know now, things would be different._

_I ask this of you Uncle, there may come a time when this child of mine will have need of your wisdom. Counsel them, as you have done for me. In all this chaos, it has been you and Lyanna to keep me grounded._

_If the child is to be a girl, she will be called Visenya. Fitting, given that the dragon must have three heads. My three children will conquer The Others just as their namesakes conquered the seven Kingdoms. I truly hope it is to be a daughter. If not, we will have to settle for Rhaenys, Aegon, and Aemon defeating the storm that gathers._

_Ser Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, Crown Prince of Westeros._

_By the time she finished, Jon had gone pale. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he struggled to blink the tears from his eyes. Rickon scoffed. “A fucking Prince,” he said. “I don’t care who your father was, you’re still my brother. You’re my brother. They took Robb from me, Bran abandoned me and he isn’t really Bran anymore. You’re the only brother I have left,” he said quietly._

_It wasn’t that Rickon didn’t believe Jon when he told him, he didn’t want_ _to believe him. It meant that he wasn’t his brother. Jon stood and embraced him. “We are family, Rickon. We were raised in the same keep, I carried you on my shoulders when you were a boy. I am your brother,” he said. He met Sansa’s eyes over his shoulder and pulled away from him. “But Sansa and I were never close as children, we don’t have the same bond that Arya and I had.”_

_He searched his little brother’s eyes for understanding, feeling relieved to have found it, Sansa spoke next. “Cousin marriages aren’t uncommon in The North, especially amongst our house.” Rickon’s eyes went wide at the word ‘marriages’. She grabbed Jons hand. “Sansa is my wife,” he declared._

_Rickon laughed softly. “Well I guess it’s settled then. It just takes some getting used to is all. Forgive me for my earlier reaction. I was hurt and I wanted, I don’t know what I wanted. But it was wrong of me,” he said._

_Jon smiles, “There was never anything to forgive. But you will tell me about those unicorns of yours,” he laughed._

_Relief flooded Sansa, and she smiled. A content, genuine smile as she watched her love and her brother talk long into the night._

At dawn, Jon, Rickon, Sansa went to where the horses and unicorns were penned. “The unicorn horn has magical properties,” he explained. “It heals wounds, cures illnesses and poisons. Women who have problems getting with child drink the powder in ale, and it works.” He finished as they approached the pen.

His eyes dance with mischief and Sansa remembers the little boy he had been, it seemed like a lifetime ago. Her heart aches for what he had been through. They were all so different, yet the _same._

Rickon goes to his mount and strokes it’s neck as he whispers soothing nonsense to still him. Quick as ever he flicks his dagger and scraped some of the dust, placing it in a pouch he carried round his neck and approached Jon and Sansa. “I have what we need,” and they returned to Jons tent for his demonstration.

“Remove your shirt.” Rickon commanded. “Pardon?” Jon had the loom of confusion on his face. “You mean you want to use it in _me?_ Can’t you just cut your hand or something? I’ve had enough magic about me,” he said.

If he were being honest, he would have said his scars are a reminder of the mistakes he’d made, Sansa’s stitches were a representation of her love for him, they claimed him as hers. Him living and breathing despite those scars is proof he faced down death for love. And won. He didn’t care how they looked to others, he would not be rid of them.

He looked to Sansa for some indication of what she felt. “Do they bother you?” He asked self consciously. “No, and I’m surprised you would ask me that,” she blushed, thinking of how she had just kissed each one of his scars, tenderly, last night as they made love.

“Let’s get on with it already,” she said as she slipped a digger from her sleeve and sliced her palm open. “Bloody hells Sansa!” Jon shouted at the sight of the dagger. “Calm yourself. See, Rickon has his magic dust,” she said playfully.

Rickon took a bit of dust from the pouch and sprinkled it on the gash. Sansa hissed as the flesh knit back together. She and Jon watched in astonishment as the wound healed. “Will this heal a mortal wound? Burns?” Sansa asked.

“Sister, it will heal _anything._ But it cannot cure death,” he said seriously. “It has to be administered before the person succumbs. But this is a good thing to have in a battle, and I have enough“Good,” Jon said. “We must ready for the days march.”

The sun had risen and the front of the line was already on the move, scouts and builders well ahead of them to ready for the nights camp. It seemed to Sansa they spent as much time setting up camp as they did marching. If the march to siege was this exhausting, she could only imagine what the actual siege was like.

They set out for the edge of the northern mountains, where the Wolfswood began, where. They would meet Asha Greyjoy and her Ironborn men would meet them, along with House Mormont. They would reach in less than a fortnight. That is when the real march would begin.

Not three days later did a Raven come bearing a seal with a flayed man upon it. The raven with white eyes harried Jon as they ended the days march and sat around a fire. He went to shoo the creature when he noticed that its eyes were white.

He nudged Sansa, motioning with his head to the bird, just to make sure he hadn’t gone mad. Her body was almost imperceptible, but a non all the same. He snatched the bird with a quickness Sansa didn’t realize he possessed. He carefully removed the scroll and set the creature free, it’s eyes turning from white to black again.

All eyes were on him as he unrolled the scroll.

Your false king is dead, bastard. He and all his host were smashed in seven days of battle. I have his magic sword. Tell his red whore.

Your false king's friends are dead. Their heads upon the walls of Winterfell. Come see them, bastard. Winterfell is mine. Come and see. Some say you killed a mockingbird. She was mine, Bastard. He promised me a bride, but she never came. How I long to play my games with her.

I will have my bride . Give her to me, and I will give you your sister back, and your foster brother, but he’s called Reek now.

I want my bride Bastard. I want the false King’s queen. I want his daughter and his red witch. I want my bride. Send her to me, bastard, and I will pardon you for deserting the watch. I will not trouble you or your black crows. Keep her from me, and I will cut out your bastard's heart and eat it. But not before you watch me have my way with my bride. Not before you watch my men have their way with her. Not before you beg me to end her life, bastard.

Ramsay Bolton,

Trueborn Lord of Winterfell.

“He sounds like a mad man,” Davos remarked. Jon flexed his sword hand. _His intended_. He would kill him with his bare hands. He crushed the parchment in his fist and threw it to the fire.

“He says he has my sister, do you think he truly has Arya?” He asked no one in particular. Sansa sat up straight. “No, if he did, he wouldn’t be so hell bent on getting his _bride,”_ she said as a chill went down her spine. “If there’s any chance he has Arya, we need to press on and meet the Greyjoy’s and Mormonts. We need to be there _now.”_

Sansa watched as the muscles in his jaw clenched and unclench. The fury was rolling off him in waves. His gaze darkened and it made her breath catch in her throat. The only time she’d seen him like this was at Littlefinger’s trial. It unnerved her.

“We break camp well before down, Tormund, Rickon,” he said as he nodded to them. “See that they’re ready. Ser Davos, inform Lord Royce of the developments.” He stood and took Sansa’s hand, helping her to stand. “Good night.” He barely gave Sansa time to bid them goodnight as he pulled her along.

“Jon, my arm.” She said. His ironlike grip loosened ever so slightly at her words, but he quickened their pace to his tent.

“What’s with you?” She cried as they entered. He turned to her, grey eyes gone black with fury, jealousy and possessiveness. “ _You are mine,”_ he growled. The timber of his voice rolled through her like a storm, curling in her belly. “ _He cannot have you.”_

He claimed her lips savagely, almost as if he were drowning and her lips air. He held the back of her head and pressed himself against her. She moaned into his mouth when she felt his thick length pressing into her belly. He had a need to mark his territory, like a wolf.

Her gown lay in pieces around her still boot clad feet. He picked her up and lay her upon the furs and circled her nipple. She whimpered at their heightened sensitivity, while deftly untying his trousers. She heard fabric rip and felt him dip his nose into her mound. She smelled different to him. Earthy instead of sweet, he lapped her up and she tasted delicious. But she needed more. She wanted to be full of him. She moved his head away roughly, knowing what she needed and what he needed even more. She turned and got on her knees, leaning on her elbows.

She looked back at him just as he positioned himself behind her, still clad in his tunic with his breeches halfway down.

He took her hard and fast. He fucked her through the hole he ripped in the seat of her small clothes. The only sounds were the _slap slap_ of his torso hitting her arse in his hard but steady rhythm.

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and leaned over, causing him to go deeper, and she was screaming his name now. Neither cared who heard. He drove into her with the desperate need to mark her as his. “ _You are mine,”_ he grumbled again, and her womb quaked, releasing the flood of her sweet waters.

She wanted to say it, to tell him she was his, but she couldn’t form a word. All she could do was moan and cum like a whore. But she was his. Completely.

 _Completely._ Jon’s movements stilled. He heard her voice in his mind. He broke their contact and she whimpered and curled into herself, still trembling. “Don’t stop,” she said. When she looked at him, all traces of the wolf were gone. He stared at her completely transfixed.

He reached out a shaky hand to trace her face but the desire had her taught as a bowstring, the sheen of sweat on her body causing her tremble. “Take off your clothes Jon,” she pleaded.

He never took his eyes off her as he complied. “You are mine, completely,” he said as he kissed her tenderly, “as I am yours,” he said as he filled her with this throbbing cock. “Ooh,” she cried out. He began to twist and turn his hips, grinding in a circular motion against her sweet spot. “I heard you, you practically yelled it at me. _Completely,_ Sansa.” The sound of his voice made her cum again.

She tossed her head to the side and squeezed her eyes shut as she contracted around him. The sight of her in the heat of another orgasm had him spilling deep inside of her. “I love you,” he said. “I know,” came her reply.

He wrapped his arms around her and flipped them over. She nestled her head into his neck as he covered them with a fur. Two heartbeats became one as sleep claimed them.

He watched her. Every morning she rose to empty her the meager contents of her stomach into the chamber pot. She would empty the pot, swish water In her mouth, and chew on mint leaves, then dress quietly to sneak back into her tent.

Each day seemed to color her complexion greener and greener. She was often pale and sweaty. On this day, not three hours out from the meeting point, she swooned in the saddle.

He rode alongside Lord Royce this day, and they had amiable conversation about wars long past. He was gauging the mans affinity for Targaryens, truth be told, when Rickon raced to his position on his horned mount. “It’s Sansa,” was all he needed to hear before he trotted back to where Sansa was.

The line had halted in this section and men were running up the line to tell each commander to halt their men. He saw a wheelhouse and wasted no time climbing into it. It was a tight fit as there were 2 elderly women and the young mother they saw before.

She was sitting up, and she looked to be well, aside from the sheen of sweat despite the cold air. He put a hand to her brow to check for fever. She smiled at his worry for her. She grabbed his hand “I’m fine, just a little tired,” she said.

He sucked in a mouthful of air. He had been holding his breath it seemed the entire ride to her until she spoke. “Well what happened?”

“ I was riding and then I got hot all over, and dizzy. I couldn’t keep in the saddle, I threw up the bread and cheese I broke my fast on, and the next I knew, I was in here,” she shrugged. “But I feel fine now,” she quickly added in an attempt to assuage his fears.

“But you’ve not been well for weeks now. You’ve gotten thinner. I’ve noticed you not eating and when you do, it comes up again.”

The women in the wheel house, old and young snickered at them. “What are you getting on at?” He asked crossly, not keen on this moment being on display. They crones paid him no mind, instead the elder of the crones asked “Child, when last have you bled?”

Cold realization hits Sansa like mailed fist. They were married almost three moons ago, and she last bled before then.

She paid no mind to it. She was a newly wed woman, reveling in the delights of their bodies. They’d made love almost every night since they wed. She wanted to be happy but they were heading off into war. She didn’t want him worrying over her. That would get him killed.

“It’s alright, Jon. I’m just with child.” The emotion overwhelmed her and her shoulders shook with her silent cries. Jon held her through it.

Finally when she settled he said “I’ll have some men ride ahead along with Davos and Tormund to meet Asha and the rest of our army. We will make camp here and meet them tomorrow. You need to rest.”

She was grateful for it. She had been exhausted the last few weeks. Now she knew why, and it made sense. The way things tasted, the way scents she paid no heed suddenly assaulted her nose. The way her breasts were a little heavier. It was a lot to take in, and all she wanted was a scalding bath, and warm furs. The sun had yet to set and all she wanted was sleep.

“Gwynyd delivered my babe,” the young mother said, “she delivered me too, she’s a wise woman. She can watch over your babe in the womb, make sure it grows right, give you things to eat to settle your belly,” she gave Sansa a knowing look. “Either way, you’ll need someone to look over you.”

The oldest one they called Gwynyd cleared her throat, “I can tell you that the sickness means the seed has taken root. Some mothers lose babe very early, but the sickness is a good sign. I can come look in on you once camp is set.” She offered.

“That is very kind of you Gwynyd, you may come look for me.” She turned to Jon, “It will be a while before camp is ready, I shall rest here for a bit.” He stroked her head as she dozed.

The old woman looked to him with disapproval. “She’ll be fine here for a spell,” she said. “Go on then. Make yourself useful,” she said as she shooed him away. He didn’t care, he just learned the woman he loved carried his child. It was everything he never he wanted.

After they met with their other allies, the down the Kingsroad took three and twenty days. Sansa only got sicker, and Jon more anxious. They received another raven. This time telling of the demise of every grown male member of house Frey, including Lord Walder himself.

What was troubling though, was the disappearance of Edmure Tully. The words on the scroll were troubling. The only witness, Lord Walkers young wife said the killer wore Lord Walder’s face and tricked everyone in drinking poisoned wine, when they lay dying, the killer removed his face and beneath it was a young girl. She said the words “ When people asked what happened here, tell them that The North remembers, and winter came for House Frey.”

That was one less house he had to extinguish, but he didn’t know if the killer was friend or foe, he’d like to think friend, but he couldn’t be sure.

All down the Kingsroad he felt as if someone were watching him, the eyes seemed to be coming from the Wolfswood. He couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on the back of his neck. It left him unsettled and when they were two days ride from Winterfell, the watchers made themselves known.

He rode off alone- or so he wanted the watchers to think- into the Wolfswood, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings. The sensation of being watched turned into awareness of being followed. Behind him he heard the snow crunch under light footsteps. He played the game for a bit longer, walking ahead not looking back and then suddenly he turned.

He spotted a dark figure duck behind a tree, quick as a cat. Playing the game he whistled a nameless tune, walking ahead once more. When he felt the hair on the back of his neck raise he turned and unsheathed his sword, quiet as ever.

Now he was the stalker. He doubled back and was behind his watcher. He watched as they turned their head from side to side, looking for him. He crept up behind them and put his sword into their back.

“Who are you,” he whispered, the threat of Valyrian steel enough to still the stranger. “No one.” They said and the voice was vaguely familiar. “I’ll not ask again,” he said. Just then a great direwolf followed by what seemed like hundreds of smaller wolves bounded from the tree line. The beast was as big as Ghost and it was all Jon could do not to shit himself where he stood.

“Nymeria! Down girl, it’s alright. Just my stupid brother,” the girl said.

“Arya,” he whispered, pulling his sword back. “Is that any way to greet your sister?” She asked. He scooped her up and swung her around, hugging her tightly. He couldn’t stop the tears from flooding his vision. “Gods, I’m so glad to see you,” he said as he set her on her feet. Still holding her hand, he took a step back and looked her over.

“I see you still have it,” he said motioning to needle. “Did you ever have to use it?” He asked. “Once or twice,” she said quietly. She looked like her father. Dressed in breeches and jerkin. He knew she was a warrior. It suited her. He hugged her hard again. “Come, I think there are some people who wish to see you.” They joined hands and made their way towards where the camp was being set up.

Sansa started to worry. The sun had begun to set and Jon had yet to return. The tents were up, the stew was on the fire and they all settled around the fire as had become their evening ritual, an easy conversation was being had by the men, Little Lyanna sat to her right and Asha to her left.

They talked of everything and nothing but Sansa could barely act interested. Her sights were set in the direction that Jon rode towards. The. All of a sudden she saw him leading his horse with a young woman. Her stomach clenched in jealousy.

She didn’t recognize the woman and she would question him when they were alone tonight, she thought. As they neared she studies the woman and her face became clear.

“Arya,” she whispered quietly, she’d thought no one heard but Rickon whipped his head up, when he saw her he jumped up and ran towards her. Sansa stood and watched as Rickon plowed into who she now knew was Arya.

Before she knew it her feet were carrying her in the direction Rickon just ran. They were all a mess of tears and snot, but they didn’t let go for some time. Finally, Sansa pulled away and _truly a_ saw Arya. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’ve grown quite beautiful,” and it was the truth.

She wore her hair short, half up and half down, sort of like how her father wore his. She was clad in leather from head to toe, in men’s clothing, but tailored to her body, which had filled out and made it obvious this was no man.

“What happened to you?” She asked. She sighed and smiled sadly. “It’s a long story, but I’ve a feeling we have plenty of time to catch up. But the short of it is, I went to Braavos and almost became no one. Now I’m here, to help her our home back. The lone wolf dies,” she started. “But the pack survives,” Sansa finished.

They forgot about dinner and went to Jons tent. “There will be battle,” Jon said as soon as they entered the tent. “Why do you think I’m here? I was on my way to kill Cersei when I heard that you had an army and marched for Winterfell. They’re already calling it The Battle Of The Bastards. I’d figured you’d have need of my skills.”

Rickon smirked, “ Arya, you’re not fighting,” he deadpanned. “If you say so,” she said.

“Arya, why were you going to kill Cersei, _how_ were you going to kill her?” 

Arya sat down in a chair and took out a small dagger, spinning it in her hands. “ I can show you better than I can tell you.”

She reached in her bag and pulled out a rubbery face. She put it on and in her place stood old lord Walder Frey.

“I was going to take a face, of someone close to her, possibly the Kingslayer, and kill her,” when she took off the face her voice returned to normal. “She’s on my list,” she finished. “Your list?” Sansa asked. “The list of people I’m going to kill.”

“So it was you who didn’t the Frey’s in,” Jon declared rather than asked. “Aye it was me, The North _never_ forgot. I was there that night. At the twins. I saw them. They put Grey Winds head upon Robb’s body, they threw mother in the river. I heard her scream and I knew she was dying.”

She grew quiet and Jon bid her start from the beginning, so she started from the Baelor’s sept and finished with her killing the Freys.

Jon blanched when she told of her training with the faceless men, and her time on the streets as a blind beggar taking beatings from a jealous waif. Sansa and Rickon sit in awe as she told of how she survived the waifs attack, and how she killed her, buying her freedom from the order.

“And now I’m here,” she said matter of factly.

Dark sister for your _Dark sister._ Jon retrieved the sword from the trunk. He knew this was the sword of his fathers family. He knew it before he removed the velvet covering. The ripples in the Valyrian steel catching the light as he handed it to Arya. 

“It’s the right length for you, not too heavy, and you look like you what what to do with a blade. If you insist on fighting, I’d have you armed as well as me,” he said as he handed her the sword.

She recognized the sword from drawings of her favorite stories of Visenya Targaryen. “How did you come by the long lost ancestral sword of House Targaryen?” She gasped as she handled the blade reverently.

“Another long story, but the short of it is, Ned wasn’t my father. Lyanna was my mother.” Arya had learned to play the game of faces well, and what he told her was truth. “Rhaegar was your father,” she stated rather than asked. He nodded.

She laughed, deep in her belly. “It’s fitting you would be a prince. If only Mother were here to see this,” she said as she whistled. They laughed as the tension dissipated.

“That’s not the juiciest bit of news, sister,” Rickon offered.

“Oh?” She said with an arched brow. She looked to Sansa who had turned beet red and then Jon who had the stupidest look on his face.

“You two are fucking,” she said with a look of disgust on her face. “Did this start before or after you realized you were cousins?” She asked.

“Another long story, but after. And we parlay with the Bolton bastard tomorrow. We best get some sleep,” he said.

“Arya, my tent is right next to Jons. You can take the bed, I don’t actually sleep there,” she said as she blushed. “You two look like blithering fools,” she said as she stormed out.

“She took it better than i thought she would,” Rickon said. “Get out Rickon,” they said at the same time. He smiled as he stood and left the tent, bidding them both good night. “I’ll see you at dawn,” he said.

They settled into bed with Jon nestled behind Sansa, his chest to her back, hands lightly resting on the small swell of her belly. “Good night, love, get some rest. Tomorrow, it begins.” She sighed. “I know.” She said as he kissed her by her ear. “Good night,” she said and they both fell into a fitful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the parlay and battle. I PROMISE. Then we can get into the dany conflict and the Legend of the others. I’m so excited to finally be writing some actual plot and not just fluff, smut, and filler dialogue. As always your comments keep me fed. Please drop a comment and let me know if you loved, liked or hated it.  
> I’m looking for a beta/ co author. Someone who has time to read and bounce ideas back and forth. This story is far from written and I don’t outline I kinda just type and let shit happen. Hit up my tumblr @hisqueeninthenorth. Send me a message I answer back!


	9. Battle of The Bastards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They Parley, they plan, they fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW M/C  
> Some heavy things happen here. Some fluff, minor smut, it may be a bit rushed but I’m anxious to conclude this battle for Winterfell act. I want to get to the dark dany and pop!jon stuff. I want the BAMF Sansa Stark going head to head with the dragon queen IDC IDC fight me 🤣  
> Shout to @Sansastarkw for previewing this chapter for me!

They left the parley with the Bolton bastard each feeling unsettled. Sansa felt violated at the way his pale eyes roamed her body, he would look to her every so often during he and Jon’s pissing contest- for lack of a better term.

He looked at Arya too, but visibly blanched when he met a pair of eyes colder than his own. Arya thought him entertaining. She could see through his charade. He was terrified, and she knew he wouldn’t fight Jon man to man, nor did he expect to see him on the field of battle. No, she thought, this one has plans. It was all she could do to not to take a throwing knife and put it between his eyes, right there at the parlay. Later, she thought, smirking at him.

“What kind of horse is that, little Lord? Looks like good meat,” he’d said to Rickon. “My dogs are quite hungry. I’m sure they’d enjoy such a raw delicacy,” he smiled.

“Your dogs are more likely to get gored. As the True Lord of Winterfell, I ask that you surrender your men and lay down your arms. You will be allowed to take the black for your treason against my family, refuse and you will die, Lord Snow,” Rickon answered. Ramsay only smiled in reply.

He turned to Asha next, “Lady Greyjoy, sometime tomorrow, you’ll see my Reek again. It will be a wonderful reunion,” he said as smiled maniacally. “I do want to thank you, you showed me just how loyal a dog he really is.”

Asha shifted in her saddle, to her credit she showed no emotion and said nothing, staring at him.

He laughed looking to Jon. “Return my intended and _you_ surrender and I will make your death a quick one. But not before I make you watch what I do to your sisters,” he said.

Jon clenched his reins in his fist, but before he could speak it was Sansa who said “You’re going to die tomorrow, Lord Snow, sleep well.” Jon watched as she turned her horse and trotted off. “Tomorrow then,” and he was following behind her, with Arya, Asha and Rickon flanking him.

“I’m going to kill him tonight,” Arya said in their council. “No you will not. I’ll hear no more of it,” he growled, slamming his fist on the table.

“You can’t stop me,” Arya answered coldly. I can be in and out, once I have his face I can command his soldiers to open the gates. Simple,” she said.

“The girl has a solid plan it seems,” answered Tormund.

“Arya it’s too dangerous,” Sansa said. Arya rolled her eyes. “You all are so STUPID, what sense does it make to march into battle when there’s an assassin, ME, who can take on anyone’s face. Hmm? The loss of life would be senseless.” She screamed.

“It’s not honorable. I’ll not have people think I send assassins for my enemies,” he said quietly. Arya snorted “So it’s your honor and reputation those men will die for, or perhaps it will be you who dies tomorrow,” then her voice softened and she looked to him and Rickon, “I just got you back, I can’t lose you again.”

Sansa stood and hugged her hard. “We do what we must, we need to be careful, if we succeed, which we will, it will be a declaration of war against the crown. Cersei knows we will never bend the knee to her,” she explained. “We have to prove that we are the better option.”

Arya nodded in understanding, but Jon didn’t believe she would stand down. “Brienne, you will make sure arya stays put tonight. You will follow her once this meeting is done, until tomorrow, have the spearwives relieve you at some point, but she isn’t to leave this camp until dawn tomorrow,” Jon said with finality on the matter.

“Lord Royce, Rickon,” he said nodding to them both, “Ramsay thinks I only have the Freefolk, Ironborn and Mountain clans with me. We would have you stay close to the wood, he will field 6000 men, he means to intimidate us with his numbers, so he will use all his resources in one maneuver. You will stay hidden until it looks as if the battle is lost, then I want you to flank them, and cut them to pieces.” They nodded in understanding.

 _“_ Tormund, The Flint, how many archers are among your men _?”_ Tormund rocked back into his chair. “About five and sixty,” he said. Jon looked to The Flint, “ I have one hundred and fifty archers, longbow men included.” He answered. Jon nodded.

“We need to keep our backs to the wood, to avoid being flanked by his horses, if he has any, we also need to dig trenches along our flank,” he said. “Davos, you will command the archers, we’ll use them first to thin his ranks. Tormund, it’s you and I on the front lines.”

“And me too,” Arya said. “Aye, and you too,” he said sadly. “We have a plan, but if the plan needs to change, change it. I put you all in command because you know the ways of battle and I trust your judgement. We may lose communication, some of us may fall, I may fall,” he looked to Brienne, “If I do, and the battle is lost make sure my sisters get to safety,” he pleaded.

“I will protect their lives with my own,” she vowed.

Satisfied that they had planned all that they could, he made to leave. His thoughts swam in his head. He’d barely had the chance to be happy about the child Sansa carried. Now all he did was worry that he would die and she would be left to raise their child alone. In that moment he understood how his father, his _real_ father felt on the eve of the battle that claimed his life.

He needed sleep, but knew he’d find none this night. He wandered about the camp for minutes or hours, he didn’t know, but soon his feet carried him to his tent where he knew Sansa waited for him.

The brazier and few candles illuminated the large tent, casting her form in a soft glow. It struck him how otherworldly she looked, sitting quietly, needlework in hand. She smiled softly when she saw him and went back to sewing.

He watched her silently as he undressed. He memorized her mannerisms, how she chewed her lip slightly while threading a needle, how she would stop periodically to examine her work. He found comfort in their shared silence, loathe to break it. Once they did, they had to address the fact that he may die tomorrow.

The thought of not growing old with her was enough to stop his heart again. He faced his last night on earth too many times to count. This time was different. He had someone to come back to. When he looked at her, he saw his future. Rickon and Arya were here, even Bran was coming home. He had his family, and for once he knew where he belonged.

His throat constricted and eyes burned with emotion. He said nothing as he laid upon the furs. He knew she’d be a while sewing, so he waited for her to join him. “Jon, what are you thinking?” She asked as she set the fabric to the side. _And there it is,_ he thought. It took him a beat to answer, “Everything and nothing,” he said vaguely, not wanting to upset her.

He closed his eyes and he heard the familiar rustle of fabric that signaled her disrobing. Soon he felt her body next to his. He opened his eyes and hers were fixed on him. He traced the planes of her face as he said “ I think of what would happen to you if I fall, I’m thinking of the battle with The Others if I survive. I’ve gone to battle more than once, was sure I would die many times, resigned to it actually, and then I did die. But of all those times I was never afraid… like I am now. It’s not the battle that has me so, it’s the thought of dying and not being here to see you grow with my child,” and he placed a hand on the soft swell of her belly. “I’m terrified that if I die, you may never be safe, or find happiness. I promised fath- Ned, that I would protect you.” He kissed the tip of her nose.

“You know, he is your father. Every time you talk of father, your uncle, you stop yourself from calling him father. You need reconcile those, Eddard Stark raised you as his own. He clothed and fed you, he saw to it that you had an education, that you were trained in battle. He taught you what it is to be a man, he taught you honor. He raised you Jon. You acknowledging that won’t undermine us.” She said softly as she ran her fingers through his thick curls. “And if you die tomorrow, which I doubt, because Rickon gave you enough of his Unicorn dust to heal a small cohort, you’d wary into Ghost, so you wouldn’t really be dead,” her attempt at levity failing as he frowned.

“I’m serious Sansa, if after the Calvary comes in, and the battle looks lost, flee.” He watched as the tears looked in her eyes, she sucked in a shaky breath, “If you die you take me with me you,” she whispered. He knew she couldn’t say it outright. ‘If you die life isn’t worth living,’ but she said it in a way he understood. He kissed her then, it was frantic and desperate, but she slowed him down with the soft swipes of her tongue, and the gentle pulling of his lips with her teeth.

“If this is our last night,” she said between kisses, “love me like it’s the last time.” She deepened the kiss and pulled back. “Like you’ll never see me again.” He pulled her to him and hugged her like it would be the last time. He kissed slowly, tenderly. “I love you,” she whispered against his lips. “And I love you.” The next few hours saw him worshipping at the temple of her body. He’d never felt closer to the Gods than he did between those furs, making her cum over and over.

He felt like a god when her sweet waters overflowed and soaked their furs, he needed to drink her nectar. Their lovemaking that night connected them even deeper than they had been before, they put every feeling into it. She called his name “Jon,” and it almost undid him, as he lay buried inside her. He’s never heard a sound so sweet. Every hitch of her breath, every throaty moan had him ready to burst. But he held out. He wanted to satisfy her until she begged him to stop, until she lay spent and breathless.

If this was their last time, she would remember every touch, every stroke, and every peak. He’d not leave her wanting. They loved and loved and loved until he could no longer hold back, his hips jerked and them he spilled himself inside of her. She curled into him, not bothering to wash, and a dreamless sleep found her. It was not so for him.

_He was standing in front the weirwood again, this time in his own body. Looking directly at the tree he said “I’m eager for your return brother, because I tire of you invading my dreams.” A soft chuckle that sounded like leaves rustling filled and surrounded him. “I long to return as well.” Bran said._

_“I wanted to remind you of your house words.” Jon looked confused. “_ Winter is coming _is relevant how. We know it’s coming. The winter must be The Others,” he said._

_“No, your fathers family.” Jon went wide eyes. Fire and blood. But how is that relevant? “I don’t see how that pertains to this battle I face tomorrow,” he said. “It takes Fire and blood to make a dragon, and only death can pay for life, Jon. It’s important that you remember, that even your life came with a price.”_

_He didn’t have the time or patience for riddles. “Do you have anything to tell me that might secure a victory tomorrow or the other wars to come?” He asked. He just wanted to know that he would live through this, that his family would live through it. He sighed in frustration._

_“Yours is the song of Ice and Fire. The prophecy culminates with you and your children. One of your children is the sword, or will give you the sword to defeat The Others and their army. Prophecy is fickle thing. But first you must accept who you are. There are enemies everywhere, in The Lands of Always Winter and beyond the wall, in King’s Landing, and across The Narrow Sea. Your blood makes you a threat to them all. Use it wisely, you have the blood of old Valyria and of the first men. House Stark ruled as Kings of Winter for over 8000 years, it is who you are. The magic in your blood is strong. Stronger than all of us, even stronger than me.” Bran said._

_“This makes no sense to me. I’m just Jon,” he said._

_“No, you are much more. You are Aemon Targaryen. You have the blood of the dragons, the blood of the Barrow Kings, Marsh Kings and the blood of the warg King. The blood of the dragon is what sparked the dormant magic in our blood. The Old Gods saw fit to awaken us all for this moment._

_You’ve already awoken the dragon. Your blood calls to him, and he was always meant to be yours.” He finished._

_“It’s just an egg, it doesn’t hear any blood songs,” he said testily. “No, it doesn’t, for the fire and blood hadn’t awakened the dragon that sleeps in stone, there is another that calls to you, yet you ignore the calls,” Bran finished._

_Jon’s mind glazed with a realization. ‘Kepa’ he remembered the fee of the dragons back, the warmth and solidness as if he really rode. “It means father,” Bran told him._

_Jon laughed in disbelief. I can hardly be a father to dragons. This is madness. He longed for a dreamless sleep. “Something is happening, Jon, you have to wake up.”_

His eyes snapped open with a start, after a moment of grogginess, his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He saw Ghost at the entrance of his tent, hackles raised. “What is it boy?” He whispered so he didn’t wake Sansa. ‘ _Brother, sister’_ the thought invaded his mind with images of Shaggydog and Nymeria prowling. “Go to them boy, I’ll come and find you.”

Ghost bounded out of the tent and Jon silently dressed himself and strapped his sword to his waist.

He stepped into the chill air lacking a cloak,- he knew the battle had begun and needed freedom of movement- to Sansa’s tent where Brienne and her spear wife guard were supposed to be sleeping. Instead when he called to them and they bid him enter, he found Brienne dressed in full plate and the spearwives sharpening swords and daggers.

The women almost looked surprised to see him, “Brienne, ladies, you’re needed to guard the Lady Sansa,” he said and then he walked out. They said nothing, gathering their weapons and taking up the task. Brienne went into the tent, while the spearwives each took a corner to guard.

Satisfied that Sansa was safe he followed Ghosts tracks until he came to the edge of camp, where it met the wood.

The three direwolves had four men encircled, stalking them. The men themselves tried in vain to keep the wolves at bay with sword and spear. Arya and Rickon were already there, waiting for him, it seemed.

“Took you long enough,” Arya said flippantly. “What is this?” He questioned. It was Rickon who spoke next, “Seems Ramsay sent these four men to kidnap Sansa and Arya.”

Jon’s blood ran cold then all of a sudden it felt as if his blood boiled in his veins. He saw red. “Whose men are you?” He asked. No one responded, they quaked in fear of the direwolves but Jon sensed an indifference to his presence. His voice was hard and cold, like the Valyrian steel strapped to his waist, “I’ll not ask again.” He flexed his sword hand and unsheathed Longclaw, the blade singing against the scabbard as it slid free.

Arya looked to him with pride, unsheathing her own blade. “We’re Karstarks! Mercy!” One man screamed.

The air crackled around them, “Seems I’m short on mercy and patience, You Karstarks, for the crime of treason and betraying your liege lords, The Starks, I sentence you to,”

Before he finished, Arya seemed to dance toward the men and before he could call her name, four heads littered the ground. “Could you let him finish his pronouncement Arya?” Rickon said, amusement evident in his tone.

Arya cleaned Dark sister in the snow as she said, “He was taking too long,” she stood and shrugged her shoulders. Jon watched her, mouth open in shock as she walked back toward camp.

He’d never seen _anyone_ move as quick with a blade as she did. She was deadly, and she was even quicker than him. He was all at once proud of the warrior she had become and pained at the thought of what it took to forge her into this deadly weapon.

He made the decision to keep Brienne with Sansa, Arya hardly needed a shadow during battle. 

The sun woke from its slumber as he made his way back to his tent. Sansa was awake dressing and fretting. He dismissed Brienne and grabbed her shaking hands. “Calm, love” he whispered against her neck. She smiled through the tears in her eyes. “It’s almost time,” she said.

He nodded and hugged her close, inhaling her lavender scent. She pulled away and gave him a fresh tunic to put on. He pulled off the old and slipped on the new. She took her time tying the laces at his collar. His coat of mail hung on a crude form, and she retrieved it. He motioned for her to give it to him and she shook her head.

She would dress him today. He held his arms up as she slipped the mail over his head, next was his leather brigandine. Then his gorget with two snarling direwolves facing each other. With each piece, she kissed him, his forehead, his eyelids, and then with the final vambrace, she kissed his lips tenderly.

He could feel her saying her goodbyes with every kiss and it almost broke him. He held her head in his hands as he whispered against her lips “I will return to you. I swear it.” Her tears fell freely. “I know,” and she placed her hand on the soft almost imperceptible swell of her belly, to remind him what was at stake.

He pulled away before he lost the courage to leave her.

They sat astride on the field of battle watching Ramsay approach with his soldiers. Arya sat atop a white horse to his right, Asha Greyjoy just behind him, with Tormund and Davos to his left, behind them, the ironborn, and their shield walls, the mountain clans with their crude armor and battle axes, and the Freefolk stood in their organized chaos that was their way. To the right of them, Lord Royce and Rickon had their mounts well hidden, ready to take the field.

That familiar feeling of dread invaded his belly and twisted into knots when he saw the banners of houses that were formerly loyal to the Starks.

Jon watched as the approaching soldiers halted their advance, while their calvary pulled up behind them.

 _He’s a fool,_ he thought. He’d fielded all his foot soldiers and Calvary in an attempt to intimidate him. He watched as Ramsay rode to the front of the line, dragging a prisoner behind him.

Next to him Asha gasped, realizing it was Theon. Ramsay dismounted and savagely jerked Theon behind him. They watched as he cut the ties that bound him and spoke to him.

Theon began to run/ if the hobbling he did could be called running. Theon ran a few yards as Ramsay knocked and arrow. _He’s making sport of this,_ he thought grimly and before he could tell Asha to stay where she was, she charged past him to get to her brother.

Another arrow and another sailed past Theon, as Asha rode hard towards him. Jon held up his hand, “Hold,” he screamed as he heard the rumblings of Ironborn soldiers breaking the lines to follow their commander.

The men rushed past Jon, screaming their battle cries, forgetting their shield wall. Seeing his plans disintegrate, Jon spurred his horse forward. More arrows sail towards Theon, but Asha reached him before the arrows did, and snatched him up and onto her horse. She turned and raced for their lines, while the ironborn charged ahead in disorganized fury.

The ground rumbled with Ramsay’s calvary and more arrows flew through the air, this time, coming from both his men and Ramsay’s. Enemy bolts hit his horse and he was thrown from the saddle. The wind punched from his lungs, and although it took him a moment to become orientated, he stood and freed his sword.

Time stood still as he was acutely aware of the sound of his heart and his breathing above the sound of thundering hooves breaking the earth. Ramsay’s horses bored down on him and just before they reached him, The Skagosi on their impossibly swift mounts charged into the fray.

The unicorns were made for battle, forcing horses, and the Ironborn were made for chopping limbs and heads. As Ramsay’s knights were unhorsed the Ironborn picked them off.

In but a moments time, the scene devolved into utter carnage and chaos. Men lay disemboweled, screaming, calling for their mothers and shitting with their breaths.

A soldier came for Jon, he parried the blow and his arm vibrates with the force of his stroke. His opponent took several steps back, and was run through by a Freefolk warriors spear. Jon didn’t realize they had joined the fray. There was no time to think as his next opponent charged at him, wielding a heavy axe. He swung in a wide arc, and as Jon sidestepped it, he couldn’t ignore the irony of dying like his father, with his chest caved in. The battle axe came at his head, he ducked and took the mans leg at the knee. He moved on.

He felled men left and right, not thinking, the part of his brain that controlled his survival instinct took over. He blocked, swing, ducked, swung and blocked in a relentless rhythm. He felt his shoulder aching, felt his lungs burning, but he did not stop. He cut down man after man, his only thoughts Sansa and survival.

More arrows sailed through the sky from enemy lines, this time Ramsay hit more of his men than Jons. Still Jon pressed on, until Ramsay’s foot soldiers encircled them, pressing them in close and towards a mountain of corpses. Their spears skewering his men one by one. Somehow he lost his footing and feel beneath the press of bodies.

Suddenly it was dark and he was buried. The press of men made it impossible for him to breathe. He climbed and got bogged down again. Each breath was a fight, and he only had strength to fight the enemy in front of him, not the bodies of his men on top of him.

He found a pocket and stuck his hand through, desperate to clear the corpses and let someone _anyone_ know he was there. Just as he thought his lungs were about to explode, he felt small calloused hands grip his, pulling him free. He climbed out to see Arya bloodied and bruised and _alive._

“You can’t die before the best part,” she half joked. He surveyed the scene before him. Wun Wun used a tree as a club, clearing out the shield and spear wielding Bolton’s,but the Karstark men cleared the mountain of corpses and butchered his men from the opposite side.

Tormund fought for his life with the Karstark and Jon truly thought the battle lost, but a horn blew in the distance and two thousand knights of the Vale charged Ramsay’s lines, cutting through them like piss cuts through snow.

Jon fought his way clear of the hoplites with Tormund and Arya by his side, as Ramsay retreated for the walls of Winterfell. Wun Wun joined and they gave chase.

Sansa sat a horse on top of a hill watching the battle unfold before her. She held her breath the entire time. Her body was taut with tension and her back ached terribly but she sat, with her back straight and head held high. Come what may, she would not look away.

She lost track of Jon during the Calvary charge and she struggled to make out Rickons fiery hair among the fray, but soon the field was littered with blood and body parts. Her heart raced a mile a minute.

Finally she thought she saw Jon, she was too far away to make out distinctive features, but she knows his armor, she knows the way his body moves. Her eyes followed him, and she saw why they called him the greatest sword in the seven kingdoms. He took heads and arms and legs. He was deadly.

She saw their wolves, snapping off legs and ripping out throats. There were too many wolves to count, but there was no mistaking the hulking figures of the direwolves.

She watched in horror as Ramsay called “Knock,” and “loose” over and over, not caring if he hit his own men. But she never took her eyes off Jon. And then shields bearing the flayed man pinned them against a mountain of corpses and began to slaughter them in earnest.

The pin in her back grew worse and radiated throughout her lower belly. Brienne looked to her and said in a comforting way, “Worry not, My Lady, this is part of the strategy. Soon Lord Royce will field his men, and this will be over.”

Sansa said nothing, she couldn’t. The pain was too great. She prayed to the Old Gods, to Bran to keep her family safe. To bring him back to her.

A spasm in her lower belly and release of hot fluid made her gasp in shock. If she looked now, blood would stain her small clothes. If she looked now she would see the beginnings of their first child staining her saddle and streaking her thighs. 

But she couldn’t look now. She had to keep her eyes on the battle. For some sign of Jon. So she kept her back straight and suffered in silence. She mourned the life of a child she never knew, alone.

“She’s gone pale, May have it better to take her from her horse,” Gwenda, a spearwife said. Brienne eyed her, “Sansa are you alright?” It wasn’t like Brienne to be so informal, she knew she must look a fright, but she stubbornly shook her head. She would remain where she was until the battle was finished, one way or the other.

“The child I carry, carried, I’m losing it,” was all she said as a single tear rolled down her cheek. Brienne gasped as the spearwives looked to each other. “We should get you somewhere safe, where you’ll be comfortable, have someone tend you,” Brienne said. “I’ll not be safe or comfortable until my family and I are behind the walls of Winterfell.”

She bled in her saddle. She bled and she cried as Lord Royce took the field and routed Ramsay’s forces.

When she saw Jon, Arya and the others running towards Winterfell, she fainted and fell from her saddle.

“Lady Sansa, Sansa ,” she heard as everything went black and the pain finally stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The miscarriage serves a purpose. It will bring Jon and Sansa closer together, It develops both characters. I can’t apologize for the way it was written or how I see this story going. It’s not a cheap parlor trick, I said before that this story is anti canon but I will be building off canon. It’s amazing how the violent ends of living breathing people doesn’t trouble some people as a miscarriage will. Sansa and Jon will have babies, several. And honestly the pregnancy was a real life consequence of nightly sex. This isn’t some needless trauma for Sansa, I didn’t write it because I enjoy seeing her suffer, if that’s the case I would have had her follow show canon and show up to the wall a bleeding broken thing. The baby’s life doesn’t pay for Jon’s dragon or his sword, it’s merely the catalyst that allows events to happen so he can hatch a dragon perhaps or ignite Longclaw. If you’re too turned off at the thought of a real life situation that the majority of women can relate in some form or fashion, put the story down. But I have a lot of things planned and I’m eager to get writing!


	10. Under the Eyes of The Gods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winterfell is taken, some minor Jon and Sansa stuff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey peeps! Back again with another one. First and foremost let me address the hate readers : stop ruining my cliffhangers!  
> This chapter had a lot of stuff I wanted to cover. Hope it’s not too long. Next chapter is less action, more fluff, smut, reunions and family time. A little plotting.  
> Shout out to @joeyava for the mood board   
> Shout out to @sansastarkw for putting up with my shenanigans. Hope you enjoy!

As they ran towards the castle Jon’s blood thrummed. The fury coursing through his veins fueled his body. He knew his lungs should be burning, knew his legs should be cramped, but they weren’t. It was not until he held the castle in sight did his stomach start to ache. _Onward,_ he thought.

Ramsay shuttered himself behind the gates of the castle while his archers rained down arrows upon them. They took cover right against the walls as Wun Wun assaulted the gates, taking the arrows for them. Jon leaned over, hands on his knees and emptied the bile that settled in his stomach.

He retched until his stomach was empty and wiped the tears from his eyes. Something was wrong he knew. The battle was won, the giant had almost successfully breached the gates, but he felt a deep sense of loss. It was an ache in his soul.

The gate shattered and Wun Wun stumbled into the courtyard, taking several more arrows, the fatal one came from Ramsay, it pierced his eye. He fell to his knees, then face forward, and the last living Giant was no more.

Jon’s men poured through the gate, making quick work of the men that chose to stand with Ramsay.

There was no time to grieve Wun Wun as Jon ran into the courtyard. “You asked for a duel to the death, I’d like to take you up on that offer,” the madman said as he knocked an arrow. Jon snatched a fallen shield and blocked the first that came his way. It pierced the shield a hairs breadth away from his head. Another arrow wisps through the air and he braced for it, catching it in the shield. He stalked on towards Ramsay, blocking yet another arrow.

When Ramsay knocked his final arrow, he had no time to loose before Jon slammed the edge of the shield into his neck, knocking him to the ground. Jon mounted the man and pummeled his face, once, twice, three times and teeth flew from his mouth. Ramsay hissed and smiled like the madman he was. Jon kept punching, releasing his emotions into every strike.

He beat him for the memory of the brother that this god forsaken house betrayed. For the good men killed at a wedding feast. For the defilement of his home. It was only when he realized Brienne entered the courtyard carrying a litter, that he stopped.

The thrumming in his ears stopped when Arya gently touched his shoulder. “Jon, it’s Sansa,” she said quietly. The entire courtyard had gone silent, even the few soldiers begging for their lives, as he noticed the figure on the litter. And the red hair that hung from it.

The sound that left his body as he scrambled to his feet to stagger to where Podrick and Brienne held the litter was earth shattering. The men and women there that day would say it seemed as if the grounds, the very foundations of Winterfell itself quaked with grief and fury. It was inhuman, filled with so much grief, the only ones who didn’t look away were Arya, Rickon and Tormund.

“What happened?” He said as he touched her face gently, blanching at the warmness she still held. He looked a bit closer and saw the rise and fall of her chest, relief flooded him and he collapsed into a fit of maniacal laughter.

“I thought she- I felt something- and I thought, you brought her body,” he said between eerie laughs. He struggled to get composure, he felt as if his brain were exposed and picked apart. He willed himself to breathe deeply. In and out. “What happened,” he asked again, more present in the moment, more lethal, ready to cut Brienne down for her failure in protecting her.

Brienne shuffles on her feet, “I think it best we get her somewhere private, to discuss these matters, and have a maester see to her if there is one,” she answered. Jon clutched his sword so tight his fingers dug painfully into his palm. “No, you’ll tell me now,” he said through clenched teeth.

Brienne rolled her eyes. Men could be so thoughtless, so uncouth that it made her blood boil. It went against everything brienne stood for to discuss something as delicate as this, as painful as this amongst strangers. She would not dishonor her so, instead she leaned in, oblivious or either unafraid of the threat he posed and whispered “She _carried_ a child, it seems that is no longer the case, _my Lord.”_ She said as equally hard as Jon.

His heart stopped for a beat then sped viciously in his chest. _I felt it,_ He thought. The emotion threatened to overcome him again, but he held onto it.

“And while we stand here fighting, my sister is exposed in the cold,” Rickon said. He directed his men to sweep the castle and kill any soldiers that refused to surrender.

Arya stroked her head with the most affection he’d seen her display since she’d been back. “Let’s get her inside Jon, now.”

“Burn anything that bears a Bolton sigil.” He said to no one in particular as they moved his heart into the keep.

They laid Sansa out in her old chambers while Jon went to the old Maesters quarters, hoping and praying this savage house had one. He passed many a servant in the halls. They all had the stink of fear and terror upon them. Scurrying out of his way when he approached or refusing to meet his eyes as he passed. He recognized none of them.

He walked on and was taken unawares by a bony hand gripping and spinning him around. His eyes met milky sightless ones. “Nan,” he gasped questioning if he was actually seeing this or if his mind was addled. The old woman didn’t answer, instead she ran her hands over his face, mapping them with her hands, the same way Maester Aemon did to him all those years ago.

“I am Nan, and I am not. Do you know who you are, _why_ you are? Do you know anything Jon Snow?” She chuckled then, and the blood cooled in his veins at the similarity of her words. Another woman long ago said something like that to him. _You know nothing Jon Snow._ Did he really know nothing? “I have seen many a year in this castle, in that wood, before the castle was a castle and the Weirwood grew as big. I was here when your ancestors still gave offerings to the Heart Tree, I was here when the foundations were laid. I was here. I was here when the Long Night descended upon us, and I was here then when the Others were banished to the Lands of Always Winter. I was here for it all boy.”

He shook his head to clear it. None of what she said made sense, although she hadn’t aged much since he last saw her so many years ago, he couldn’t make sense of her words. “I don’t have time for this, I need to fetch a maester, is there one here,” he asked impatiently, attempting to sidestep the woman and be about his way.

She gripped him again, stilling his movements. “Aye there is, and he’s already seeing to what needs to be seen to, he is where he should be, as you are where you should be. Do you know how long I’ve waited for this? How many lovers I’ve outlived, how many children I’ve birthed, how many of my children’s children children I’ve seen go into the dirt? It’s been so many, I’ve lost count of the people I’ve loved and lost. The Gods kept promising, ‘soon your suffering will be over. Your sacrifice has not been in vain, and I’d wait another thousand years.”

As she spoke she slowly transformed before him. Her hair slowly changed from white and brittle, to shiny, dark brown curls. Her paper thin skin seemed to plump and her wrinkles filled out. She stood taller as her hunched back straightened. A beauty stood before him. But he knew not to let appearances lull him into complacency. He knew what magic did to those who wielded it, and he knew there was a price. Instead he asked “Is this your real form, or are you really a crone?”

Instead of the dry shaky tone of voice she started with, a soft bell like tone met his ears. “I am everything and nothing, I am of The Old Gods, I am a witch of Winter, a Sorceress of Ice. And I tell you, you will need both Ice and Fire to conquer these demons that threaten the living. You will need both fire and ice to conquer the demons that live within you. The ice was always strong in you, but you have fire in your blood. It takes blood to wake the dragon.”

He could have screamed. He was tired of prophecy, of feeing like the world was his responsibility. All he wanted was to live in peace with his family, give Sansa children, and die with her by his side as he took his final breaths. He didn’t want to be a dragon, he didn’t want to be King, he just wanted to be _Jon._ That’s it.

“I don’t have time for riddles and prophecy speak. Speak your peace woman and let me be on my way.”

“All will be revealed in time. I’ve been guiding you since you were but a boy. When Lord Eddard returned with you bundled in his arms and the body of your mother in that cart, I knew that red comet in the sky was you. You are the prince who was promised, but only through your union with a winter witch, will the Long Night and the Others be defeated. Go to her, she’ll be waking soon, we’ll speak again.” Jon blinked and she was gone.

He turned in the direction he had come, his mind not focused on anything other than Sansa. By the time he made it back to her chambers, he was fraught with worry for her, not knowing what to expect.

He knocked waiting for entry, and Arya cracked the door slightly eyeing him angrily, then she threw the door open, letting him in. The maester pressed this way and that on her belly, and turned to her bloodied small clothes and stockings that were removed from her.

“The bleeding has all but stopped, and I saw no signs of a babe in the bloodied undergarments or stockings. Typically when a woman is as far along into her confinement as she is about, three moons or so, you can see the evidence of the child in the fluids expelled from her body. Bleeding and heavy bleeding isn’t uncommon in the early stages. Her womb is still tight, the bleeding almost slowed to a stop, I see no further signs of distress. But it’s of the utmost importance that she rest, and eat well. Take care not to upset or stress her. It’s my opinion that the stress of prolonged travel and battle is what started the bleeding.”

Jon couldn’t form an adequate reply, so he mumbled something incoherent as Arya dismisses him.

_Thwack._ His face stung as Aryas hand struck him lightning fast. “I have come to terms with _whatever_ you and Sansa are, but this?” She asked incredulously. “How could you be so stupid and thoughtless? So godsdamn selfish?” She hissed.

He didn’t know how to answer that. Was it entirely selfish to give himself over to claiming what he’d wanted for as long as he could remember? Was it selfish to allow himself to love with abandon? He’d been doing the unselfish thing since he left for the wall. He lost his life for being unselfish.

He sighed and rubbed his temples, trying to massage away the headache that formed behind his eyes. He was weary, every bone ached, every muscle and tendon attached to those bones cried out in protest at his still standing form. He sunk down in a chair and let his body relax.

“You knew you were going into war, and you knew there’d be a war after this one, and probably one after that, so why would you get her with child? Do you think a heavily pregnant woman should give birth during battle, or on a march? She can barely protect herself, how is she to do so encumbered with the weight of babe? I thought you smarter than this. And to think, most everyone still believes you to be siblings? What’s to stop them from betraying us again behind this? You’ve heard the talk of the Lannister’s. You _know better_ Jon.” She finished on a more tender note.

He clenched his jaw, sterling himself for more of her admonishments, when none came he said,

“I can admit, that it was a bit reckless. I can admit a lot of things Arya. But I won’t let you guilt me into being ashamed or sorry for this. We hadn’t talked about children, we hadn’t talked about if or when. We just loved each other, totally and completely. We only saw each other. We were marching, moon tea wasn’t readily available, I doubt she would have taken it anyway, and I strongly doubt she would have taken It at my insistence. We lived and loved in the moment. I didn’t lay with her and think ‘I must put a babe in you’, it just happened.”

He leaned further into the chair, “And when it happened, When we were told, I was happy,” he trailed off, thinking of the moment in the wheelhouse when Sansa bawled her eyes out when she was told she had the symptoms of a woman with child, and how he had to hide his happiness because her tears confused him and he didn’t know right away if _they_ were happy about it.

“I understand what you’re saying, Arya, I do. But can’t I be happy? Why am I not allowed to want anything? To have anything? When we were children, the Lady Catelyn often reminded me I should want nothing, and deserved less. One day, while Robb and I played, I said I was the Lord of Winterfell in our game. We thought nothing of it. We were children. She found me while I had some time alone, Robb must have been off in one of his lessons. But she found me and I’ll never forget her words. _You are but a bastard, you’ll never be Lord of this castle, you’ll never be anything but a bastard. You’d do well to remember it._

It was then that I knew what it truly meant to be a bastard. I was unwanted here, I was shown little love. Sure i ate well, and I had clothing, and education and a master at arms, but I never felt like I belonged here. I felt like an intruder.” He smiled sadly at the irony of it all. “But I’ve taken this castle in the name of the Starks, for the _Starks._ And yet, I am not a Stark, I have Stark blood but I’m not a Stark.” He said quietly.

Arya didn’t play the game of faces with Jon. She listened to him as his sister, if she said she didn’t know how much being a bastard affected him, she’s be lying. She knew he felt an outsider, that’s part of the reason they were so close. She felt an outsider too most times. In those moments she often sought out the only other person in the castle who was as lonely as her. She used him to fill a void, to quell the feelings of worthlessness she felt and he never turned her away. How he had to be hurting, and he still gave of himself.

“You’ll always be a Stark to me, I’m sorry,” was all she said.He smiled sadly at her. “Don’t be, you are home, and we are together.” He moved to the bed and sat next to Sansa as she slept and placed a hand atop her belly. _Please be alright,_ he willed Sansa and the babe that was somehow still living.

_Only death can pay for life._ The words snake back into his head. Was it the death of the Giant that secured the life of his child, or the many thousands of men that lost their lives that day? How was he to pay for his life? The thought chilled him despite the roaring fire in the hearth and the heated water in the walls. Was he a man living on borrowed time, just here to serve a purpose and then disposed of when his task complete? When did the Gods meddling end?

He looked at Arya, bloodied and bruised, dirt caking her clothing and nails, then he looked to himself. He was covered in muck and grime and blood. But Sansa, road weary as she was, still looked pristine almost. No dirt streaked her face, her clothing was as clean as it could be kept after weeks on the road.

“You should wash,” he said. She looked at him with a raised eyebrow, “Right because you’re the cleanest among us,” she said as she snickered and got up. “Just say you want privacy so you can swoon and cry over her.” She said as she ducked out of the doorway, barely dodging the glove he threw in her direction.

Brienne was staring outside the door no doubt, so he took advantage of her guard and slipped out. “My lady?” He called to her uncertainly. She turned her eyes in his direction but said nothing. “Apologies for my behavior, earlier.” He said pensively. Her nod was barely perceptible but it was a nod all the same. “I will see to the prisoners and the baggage train, and also bring her trunks and a bath for her, if she feels up to it when she wakes,” he said and then he was roaming the halls of the castle.

It was familiar and foreign at once. Where there were once Stark sigils and tapestries woven with direwolves or Tully fish, there was nothing. The castle was full of people, but it was empty. Empty of joy and the sound of children’s laughter and mischief. He walked with no clear purpose, and before long he was crossing the courtyard moving towards the kennels.

It smelled dank, of piss and shit and _fear._ He wondered how many men and women were kept here as animals. He fought the urge to further terrorize the man as he sat tied to a chair, battered and broken, barely conscious. The kennels were empty save for the man and his beasts, and the prisoners that Nan, or whoever she claimed to be had, been moved already.

“She was right,” Jon said not caring if the Ramsay perceived his presence. “She said you would die this day.” He felt triumphant in that moment, turning on his heel.

Tormund crossed the courtyard and they embraced as brothers. “I’m sorry, friend.” He spoke about Wun Wun, not wanting to say his name, he felt he didn’t have the right to do so. He died for him and his family, he died so the Freefolk had a chance at sieving the The Others. He knew little of Wun Wun, other than he stood with him when others wouldn’t.

“It was a good death,” Tormund said finally breaking their embrace. He quickly thumbed the stears from eyes. “So this is it, eh? Some monstrosity of stone this is, but I ‘spose it will do.”

Jon threw his head back and barked a laugh that rang out in the courtyard. It was then he noticed the Stark banners being hung from the walls. The sight filled him with pride, he was proud of himself, and proud of his siblings. Were it not for Rickon the battle would have been lost before it begun, he charged with his mounts just in time. He thought of Arya and her lethally beautiful waterdancing on the battle field, and her wolves tearing the Bolton men to pieces. Were it not for Sansa, the Ironborn and Vale Knights would not be here. He didn’t do this alone, he couldn’t have, and he knew it.

Snow began to fall and it snapped him out of his quiet reflection. He strode into the castle and upon seeing a woman from the kitchens, he inquired about having a bath brought to Sansa’s rooms. He needed to find Rickon and the old woman. He needed to find out who Ramsay had had in the kennels. But first he sought out the Godswood.

When Sansa woke she was acutely aware of rustling around her. She kept her eyes closed, trying to gain some clue as to where she was. She heard buckets and buckets of water being poured but whoever the people were tip toed about, trying not to wake her. Realizing she would gain no insight as to her whereabouts, she opened her eyes.

The walls of her old chambers were familiar but different. The tapestries and frilly things that made this room her own were gone. All that was left were the furnishings she had left behind.

She sat up and the days events came flooding back to her and her hands went to her belly. The tears threatened to overcome her, but she pushed them down. She sat up quickly and the effort set her stomach churning. She leaned to the side of the bed and retched. “M’lady you must rest,” an older woman admonished her. “Maester Wolkan says you’d nearly lost the babe, it was a near thing, but the bleeding has stopped. We just changed your clothes a little bit ago,” she said as she tried to settle her deeper into the bed.

Sansa didn’t believe them, she had so much pain and she felt the blood pooling in her small clothes. But she placed her hand on her belly again and allowed herself some small measure of hope. “Do you know where my brothers and sisters are? I need to know if they are all here,” she said in a small voice. What she really wanted to say was she wanted to know if any of them died, but she couldn’t bring herself to give voice to the thought: “Aye, Arya roams the castle, little Rickon, last I saw had gone into the crypts, I expect to be paying his respects and the bastard is off in the Godswood.” She said.

Sansa’s eyes went cold, “ _don’t_ call him that, ever again. He’s no bastard and had never been a bastard,” she said crossly with all the authority of the Lady of Winterfell. The woman ducked her head “Yes M’lady, I’ll not speak so again.” The younger of the two nervously spoke, “We’ve drawn a bath for you, and your trunks have been brought in, if it please M’lady we will stay and help you to bathe and dress, as the Maester instructed us not to leave you to these things alone,” she said nervously.

Sansa offered her a measured smile, “I thank you for your efforts, but I need to find my family,” she says as she swung her legs to the side of the bed throwing the furs to the side. The air in the room wasn’t chilly but it caused her to look down and notice she no longer had her traveling dress on, instead she was in a thin sleeping shift. She sighed “I suppose you can help me into a dress then,” she said, resigning herself to the clucking and ministrations of the well meaning women.

Finally she was in her gown, boots and cloak walking the halls of her childhood home. She ran her hands against the stone walls as she walked. If only she could go back to happier times, when the castle thrived on love and not fear. The fear and bloodshed within these walls seemed a physical thing, assaulting her senses. She shook off her foreboding when she came to the Great Hall.

She couldn’t hear herself over the din of men celebrating victory in battle and their survival. She smiled and walked on, feet bringing her outside and to the gates of the Godswood. Ghost was by her side then, nudging her forward through the gates and she couldn’t help but chuckle at his insistence to push her towards his master.

She followed the familiar path to where she knew Jon would be. The same spot he always was, where father used to sit by the hot spring. He was still covered in blood and mud but he looked so much like her father, from the set of his shoulders to the way he took to wearing his hair now. It made her breath catch, the way he dipped the Valyrian steel sword on the water and polished it to a shine. She watched him for a beat more, before she sat next to him.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t realize she was in the Godswood until she was right beside him. “Sansa,” her name on his lips sounded like a prayer, a plea, an exaltation all at once. Her name on his lips conveyed his love for her, his relief at seeing she seemed to be alright, and his worry that she wasn’t resting as instructed.

She was glad he didn’t admonish her for finding herself out of her bed. Instead he dropped his sword and took her hands in his. He stared into her eyes for a long moment, it seemed to her that he struggled to find the words.

“I thought I had lost you, when they brought you into the courtyard, you were so still, but I realized you lived and was told you’d lost the babe,” his voice cracked on the last word, but he continued on. “I thought that I gained a castle and lost our child. I thought the child was a sacrifice for something. And I think had Wun Wun not died, had all those good men and magical creatures not perished, you would have lost the babe.” Sansa eyes him curiously, thinking he had lost his wits until he continued, “ _Only death can pay for for life,”_ he said on a shaky breath. Her hands went to belly on instinct, mind whirling at the words. She heard them before, at some point, but she couldn’t remember where or when. She knew the truth of the words as sure as the Weirwood loomed over them. It registered on some ancient level, deep in her bones.

At that moment, at her realization, it seemed as if the Godswood came alive around her. If she listened closely she could hear the voices of the trees, she could taste the blood of the men sacrificed here in ancient times, she heard wedding vows here going back eight thousand years. This wood was alive with magic and flowed through and around her.

“Sansa? Your skin is… it’s almost _glowing_ ,” Jon whispered reverently. She felt it, a tingling all along her body, it bound and set her free. Bound her to this new life, as a wife and mother, and freed her from the childish musings and petty wants of a child, romanced by music and knights from stories. “I can feel it,” she said.

_Father, Warrior, Smith , Stranger_ she heard in her head as she looked at Jon, for he was almost glowing too. _You are the mother, your were a maiden, you will be a crone. You are a true daughter of winter, the secrets of the Gods are held in your blood. Your blood gives life, as it has the power to take life. Wield it wisely._ The voice seemed to whisper on the wind, as Jon still stared at her in awe. When she followed his eyes, she saw shimmering threads of silver, blue and grey coming from where her heart would be to connect to his black, red and grey threads.

She knew it meant they were bound by the Gods. They were and bound by vows, they were bound by blood with the child she carried and now, here before the Weirwood, the Gods confirmed that nothing could keep them apart. Not wars, politics or even death.

“What’s happening?” He asked, awestruck. “The Gods are making their will known,” she answered.

They held one another in awe for a moment longer, before she broke the silence. “When I sat atop the hill watching the battle unfold, I thought you might die. I saw the soldiers surround you, and then I didn’t see you anymore. I kept track of you for as long as I could, and then I felt the pains and the blood started flowing. I thought you dead and I thought I was losing our child, I didn’t realize I wanted something so much until I was scared I’d lose it,” she said through her tears.

“I knew I’d wanted it, from when we first learned of it. Even before then. I knew I wanted you, and I wanted you to have my children.” He said looking away from her. “Arya said I was selfish and reckless and for endangering you. She said in the face of so many wars we should have been careful, but I’m glad we weren’t. I will protect you, no matter what. _Both_ of you.”

She squeezed his hand, “I know, and I will protect you,” she said.

He wondered what she could possibly protect him from, and as he was about to ask they were interrupted by Arya and Rickon.

“You’re still dirty,” she observed coolly. Sansa regarded them, Rickon still in his furs and leathers of battle, and Arya washed and awkwardly clad in an ill fitting dress, and she struggled not to laugh. Losing the battle she said “you look ridiculous, Arya.” And fell into a fit of laughter. “I will have to make your set of clothes my top priority, I can’t have you walking around like that,” she said, a smile still twinkling in her blue eyes.

“Just don’t make me any dresses, I like breeches and tunics, with lots of pockets and places to hide my weapons,” she said. Sansa groaned, “I know,” was all she said.

“Jon we need to get back, Lord Royce and Asha seek an audience with you, Princess Shireen was found in the kennels and they say her parents are in the Broken Tower.” Rickon said ominously.

“Send word that I’ll not see anyone until tomorrow morning. I trust Davos has seen to arrangements for the Princess?” Rickon shrugged. “When we left he had her in the kitchens to see that she was fed. I doubt he assigns her chambers without checking first with you,” he said.

“Why would he need to check with me? I’m not the Lord here, you are. This is your castle, your people and your words from here on out.” Jon declared. As they walked, Rickon looked back to Jon, “I’m hardly a Lord, I’ve no formal education or training to the task beyond my eighth nameday, Winterfell is yours, as are the Lords chambers. I’ve had your things sent there already. I figure me and my woman can take your old chambers,” he shrugged.

Jon was about to protest, but Sansa touched his arm, calming him instantly. “What about a woman?” Sansa asked and Rickon beamed. “She’s of the Freefolk, dark of hair, tall and beautiful,” he said proudly. Arya chuckled and Jon clapped him on his back. “So, did she steal you, or did you steal her?” He asked. “We stole each other,” and Sansa knew that her baby brother who toddled after her, the baby brother who kept skinned knees and a dirty face was hopelessly in love. “I look forward to meeting her, soon.” She said. “You will sister.”

They were back in the castle going towards the kitchens when they came across Davos and Shireen making their way towards the Great Hall, “Davos,” Jon called.

The old man looked grateful to see him, albeit a little distraught. “Jon this is Princess Shireen, daughter of Stannis, Princess this is Jon,” he finished. Jon looked into the girls face, she was filthy and gaunt, on one side her face was like stone. She was a sight, and he pitied her. “Hello Princess,” Sansa said gently. The girl jumped and her eyes darted back and forth in her head.

Looking into her eyes, Sansa saw that were vacant. This child was traumatized. “Come darling, since you’ve eaten already, how about a bath and some clean clothes. We can fix you up a nice warm bed as well, what do you say?” She asked. The girl only clung to Davos tighter, still refusing to speak.

“It’s alright Lady Sansa, if you lead the way, I can get the child settled, she can bathe and dress herself no doubt, but seeing as I’m the only familiar face, I can’t see her wanting to be parted from me,” he said sadly. Jon saw the same care he had for him in the way he looked at Shireen. Sansa sighed and nodded her head. “If you’d follow me, to my own chambers a bath is already prepared” she said as she, Arya, Davos and Shireen followed her.

“She looked as I did when me and Osha reached Skagos. That’s the look of a child who’s seen too much,” Rickon said sadly.

“Aye, it is.” Jon said. He tried not to think of what happened to the child while she was here, and he tried not to feel guilt at refusing Stannis’ offer when he was still camped at the wall.

They walked the bridge connecting the Great Keep and the Armory, passed the guards hall and the first keep to get to the Broken Tower. The smell of rotting flesh almost knocked them back as they entered and began the climb up the crumbling steps. “Careful Rickon,” Jon said as he almost lost his footing.

They made it to the last step when flies and smell of death assaulted their senses, but the smell couldn’t prepare them for the sight that awaited. There in the middle of the room stood the physical representation of the Bolton house sigil. Two skinless corpses hung upon the crosses. All about the room dried blood was splattered this way and that. In the furthest corner, a crouched figure was chained to the floor. Her scarlet hair giving away her identity.

The red woman still had her skin, Jon notes but her bones protruded painfully beneath the paper thin skin that covered them. She hugged herself closer, unwilling to look at the intruders. Jon removed his cloak and cover her naked body and looked back to the mutilated bodies upon the crosses.

“Must be Stannis and his queen, although I can’t much tell which is which the way the madman did for them,” he remarked, face belying the calm tone in which he spoke. Rickon was green at the gills and stumbled backward, making for the stairs.

“Send men to remove and burn the bodies,” he said with finality. “I’ll see to her,” he said nodding at her huddled form.

“Lady Melisandre, would you rise so I can see what it is you’re chained to?” He asked. Jon noticed the moment she recognized his voice, because her posture relaxed and she turned to face him, all traces of fear gone. Seeing this Jon clenched his jaw, fed up with witches and prophecies and their games. “I take it you were only a prisoner because you wanted to be,” he said through clenched teeth.

“You have it right, My King.” She stood and the chains seemed to melt from her. She wrapped herself in his cloak and walked before him, he just stood there staring and she cast a glance behind her, as if to say “what are you waiting for,” and continued in her stride.

Jon saw to matters of the castle for the rest of the day. By the time the sun began to sink beneath the horizon, he didn’t want to see or talk to anyone besides Sansa. However, Ramsay still sat chained in the kennels. He needed to end the bastard before he laid down to rest, but he had to look the part of the Lord dispensing justice first.

He hurried to his rooms to bathe and dress quickly. He wanted to make use of the springs, but that was at odds with a speedy conclusion to this never ending day. He was sure he would sleep for two days if he ever got the chance to close his eyes. He moved about his chamber slowly, taking in the sight of the familiar walls, and smiled when he saw the tub of steaming water in the middle of the room. He shed his cloak and removed the blood spattered jerkin, dropping it carelessly to the floor. His tunic seemed to be glued to his body in some spots, and he peeled that off as well.

He felt different shedding those garments, as if he’d shed a part of himself. He looked over his body, he was bruised. There was an entire boot print on his stomach, from when he’d been buried and trampled in the battle, and bruises in the shapes of sword points and edges.

He sank into the water and his muscles cried out in equal parts relief and protest at the sensation. He dunked his head and remained under the water for as long as he could. His mind roamed. He had gone through enough to drive a sane man mad. Perhaps he was already mad, he mused. He scrubbed the blood and mud from his hair and body with soaps someone left for him.

Seeing the pink tinge and debris floating in the water, he got out and toweled himself off. He looked to the garments he’d laid out and began to dress. _Kill the boy, and let the man be born._

He shook his head but he’d heard his uncles voice as clear as if he were standing beside him. _Mad I might be,_ he thought. He opted instead to Don himself in the black of the Nights Watch, it just felt right.

Strapping his sword to his waist, he was ready to exit when the chest that held his great grand uncles scrolls and dragon egg drew his attention. It was almost as if he was tethered to the egg inside. It pulled him from the door and bid him open the chest. He stared down at the egg and he could feel the heat emanating from it. He didn’t remember the egg being warm last he touched it. He bundled the egg in a sheet and went to find Sansa and his siblings.

Arya, Rickon, and Tormund sat in the Great Hall, it seemed they were waiting for him. “Where’s Sansa?” He asked as he strode in the room. “So you’re a crow again?” Tormund asked bewildered at the all black garments he wore. It was all Rickon could do not to chuckle. “No, I’m not a crow again. I just- I can’t explain it,” he said. He was becoming frustrated at the never ending jests, and people expecting him to explain himself. He was beyond that now. “Sansa is in the Lord’s Chambers, either asleep or bathing, or asleep in the bath,” Arya said nonchalantly. “Thank you.” He said.

“I need a pyre built in the courtyard, I want Ramsay tied to one of his crosses. I’ll not give him the mercy of a quick death,” he said. Arya’s ears perked up, “You mean to burn him, alive? That’s very _Targaryen_ of you,” she said.

“I suppose it is,” he relied as he strode off. He glanced over his shoulder “Have the men put those dogs down, they hunt and feed on humans, I’ll not suffer that madman’s torture devices roaming the grounds of this keep,” he said with finality.

This time when he walked the halls, the men and women met his eyes. He felt the tone changing around him. People were relieved and happy to be delivered from the cruelty of the Bolton’s. It made him stand straighter and walk with purpose. He nodded to every person who made eye contact with him on the way to Sansa’s rooms.

He nodded to Brienne as he approached and she knocked softly three times and the door opened for him. He set down the egg and took in the sight of her. She stood before him in naught but a thin shift, hair loose and wet from her bath, her skin shone from the oils massages into her skin and this time she really did glow.

“Do you recognize me with clean hair and skin?” She half joked. She was beautiful, he could never _not_ see her beauty.

He said nothing, pulling her close to him. She smelled of lavender and vanilla, sweet. She was warm and soft in his arms and it was all he could do not to undress and curl into her as they fell asleep in each others arms. The need he felt for her went beyond their lovemaking. He just wanted to hold and cherish her tonight.

“Aye, I’d never mistake you,” he said quietly. “I’m going to burn Ramsay,” he blurted. Her eyes widened as she pulled away from him slightly. “Are you sure, I mean what would the people think? We can’t show up and take the castle from someone ruthless and kill them by ruthless means, we need to be instilling trust in the people, not fear.” She said.

“I’m instilling trust that I will punish those that harm them,” he said. Sansa saw the look in his eyes and decided not to press further. She turned and to smooth a heavy blue woolen dress. “It shouldn’t take me long to get into this gown, even quicker if you help me with the laces,” she said.

He complied and when her laces her laced, he sat her down and pulled her boots on her feet, and settled her cloak around her shoulders.

Upon reaching the courtyard Sansa saw that Ramsay had already been tied to a cross, pyre built beneath it. The red woman was there chanting something ominous. Davos, Tormund, Arya and Rickon flanked the two of them.

Sansa looked around and saw that some small folk had gathered to watch the execution. She studied them, some looked afraid while others looked expectant and hopeful.

Jon’s voice rang out in the courtyard. “Ramsay Snow,” he started but was interrupted by the man. “I’m a Bolton, I was legitimized by King Joffrey Baratheon,” he screamed.

“You were legitimized by a bastard with no ties to the throne, you were born a bastard and will die a bastard, and for your many crimes, too many to count, you will die by fire,” he nodded to Melisandre and her chants grew louder until the pyre became ignited.

The flames licked the base of the pyre and Ramsay called out “You were born a bastard too. You’re not my better. You will die as a bastard!” He screamed as the flames licked just around his ankles.

Blood thundered in Jon’s ears. “You’re wrong, I was born a King,” and it was as if his words were accelerant for the flames, they shot up towards the sky and to swallowed the writhing figure.

The egg almost burned against the skin of Jons chest. _Only death can pay for life._ He turned to Sansa and asked “Do you trust me?” His eyes pleaded with hers, not understanding she answered “Of course I trust you, Jon, what are doing?” As soon as he heard “of course” he unclasped his sword and handed it to Arya, “Jon?” She questioned. He smiled at her and mussed her hair.

Realization dawned on Arya at the gesture and she began to plead with him, setting Sansa on edge. Jon kissed her lips and whispered “trust me,” against them. Stilling Sansa, she felt the surety coming off him and it calmed her. _Whatever happens tonight, it’s the will of The Gods,_ she thought.

Jon walked straight for the pyre clutching the egg, he never looked back as he stepped into the flames.

The dragon had awoken from stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Jonsa baby lives 🥴 I kinda let the hate readers draw their own conclusions but for real if a death, fetal or otherwise isn’t 100% confirmed, don’t automatically assume they’re dead. I was trying so hard not to ruin the moment in the comments. Jonsa baby was never going to give Jon a dragon, as some of the readers inaccurately pointed out, Rhaego’s life didn’t pay for her dragons lives, Miri Maz Duras’ life paid for it. Rhaego’s life bought Khal Drogo’s. 
> 
> As always, I live for your thoughts. Drop a comment, tell me if you loved or hated it, respectfully please.


	11. The Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa come into their own, somewhat:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey peeps! Another one and I hope you enjoy.

Jon barely registered the cries that came his family. _Do not fear for me. The fire is mine, I belong to the fire, and fire cannot kill a dragon._

The flames were warm and soothing. It cleansed him, purified him of all the insecurities and doubts that plagued him. _Kill the boy. Kill the boy, Jon Snow, and let the man be born,_ he echoed the words of his uncle over and over in his mind.

There a was truth in the fire that he couldn’t escape, he was born a king, and he had to be Aemon Targaryen to keep his family safe. The lone wolf dies but the pack survives, and he would protect his pack with fire and blood.

He found many truths in the fire. All his life he’d felt like he was lacking something, sometimes, it was if he was just on the cusp of something, then it would slip away. He always felt like he was his fathers shame. The one mar upon his honor, the station of his birth left him lacking, now he’d want for no more.

When he came back, at the Wall, what he saw between the realm of living and the dead left him more questions than answers. But now he knew, he was both dragon and wolf. The north, the wolf in him, had always been strong, but he felt his dragon waking from the slumber. It started in his toes, snaked it’s way up his legs and coiled at the base of his spine.

The fire burned brighter and hotter forcing everyone to take several steps back _._ At that moment the egg cracked, and to Jon it seemed a deafening roar, no one else was any wiser as to what was happen behind the wall of flame. The egg cracked and he felt two tethers to his mind and heart. One was so faint, barely perceptible, but the other tether latched onto his mind fiercely. Almost forcing him to acknowledge its presence. _Kepa. I have waited, your blood called to me since my birth, but now you have embraced me in your heart. I come._

He remembered the dreams he’d had of dragon riding, he’d remembered warning into the dragon, he also remembered the fear he’d had of the bond, trying to sever it every time he felt the nudge against his mind, forcing himself awake when he skin changed into the animal. _Come, I am no longer afraid._

The boy Jon Snow was dead, when the fire burned out, the man, Aemon Targaryen, fourth of his name, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, wolf and dragon, stepped from the embers, unburnt, with a dragon hatchling.

He had no concept of time, but the red moon was low and huge in the sky, and the air colder than what it had been before he stepped into the flames. All around him, every eye had gone wide and was trained on him, and one by one, knees were bent and heads bowed. 

Sansa didn’t know how long she stayed with him while he burned. Arya had become inconsolable, and she’d had to be given essence of nightshade to sedate her. She watched as Tormund subdued and carted her off.

She trusted him to come out of this, she could still make out his form in the fire, so she knew that was a good thing, but what would come out of that fire? The Red woman’s chants escalated further as flames and sparks shot toward the sky, and it threatened to crack the careful façade Sansa had in place. She wanted her to shut up.

Time dragged on and the flames seemed to only burn brighter. She began to fret as she heard the whispers among the crowd.

“Was that a dragon egg?” One man said.

“He wasn’t screaming, didn’t even look like he felt the heat,” one woman said.

“A targaryen across the narrow sea stepped into a pyre and emerged unburnt with three dragon hatchlings, if we’re to believe reports.” Lord Royce said leveling his gaze at Sansa. She felt as if the ground was pulled from beneath her.

“Why do you stand here idle, while the gods bestow upon him that which is rightfully his?” The voice sounded vaguely familiar but she couldn’t place it. She looked to her right and saw the most beautiful woman she’d ever laid eyes on. Long brown hair that stopped just short of her waist, it was loose and curly. Her skin was rosy and plump, and her lips looked like they’d just been bitten, soft and pink. Her eyes shone with mirth, but there was something else there, she noticed. Something ancient, as old as the heart tree in the Godswood, something wise beyond her years, of her appearance were any indication.

“Forgive me, My Lady?” Sansa questioned her. “Names and titles don’t matter my dear, come with me, your destiny awaits,” she said to her with a knowing gaze. “I have to be here if, _when,_ Jon comes out of the fire,” she said. “No, you need to be where the Gods can bestow upon you, that which is rightfully yours as well. Look at the moon, child, have you ever seen it like that?”

When Sansa looked her breath caught in her throat. The moon seemed so close she could touch it. It was almost blood red. The sight sent chills through her body. “We won’t see the moon pass beneath the earths shadow for quite some time, nor will we see it this close to earth. You see the coloring? The red is the blood, child, this is also the wolf phase of the moon. He came back from the dead moons ago, but tonight he is reborn in _fire_ under the _blood moon._ ”

The woman pushes in her speech to gauge Sansa’s reaction. “A blood moon in the _wolf phase_ , this energy is meant for you to awaken as well.” The woman walks away without another word and Sansa follows, but every few steps she looks back to the pyre. “Fret not child, he is chosen by the Gods. He needs to do this alone, as do you.”

Sansa quickened her steps and followed the woman into the Godswood. The air was heavy and still. When she stepped inside the iron gate that separated the grounds from the Godswood, she felt as if she stepped through time itself. Everything, even she, hung in the balance.

They came to the heart tree and the the air crackled with energy. “Do you know who you are child? _Why_ you are?”

“I was born to House Stark, I married a Lannister, and a Targaryen. The blood of the first men runs through me through my father.”

The woman regarded her, somewhat pleased. “Aye, you have the blood of the First men, but you also have the blood of the Warg Kings, The Kong’s of the Barrowlands, and The Children of The Forest. You are a true winter child, born on one of the worst winter storms we’ve seen this generation. I remember, I attended your birth. You came into the world wide eyed, without a sound, as if you knew exactly why you were born again.”

The woman removed several stones and crystals from the folds of her gown, she now burned some fragrant herb, while she enclosed them in a circle of the crystals she’d made.

“Born again?” Sansa questioned, herself more than the woman, but still she felt the truth in the her words. She was handed piece of Weirwood whittled into a sharp point, while the woman looked at her expectantly.

“Go on then, the Gods need blood if they are to share their secrets with you,” the woman said.

Sansa looked at her palm, she would do this but first she needed answers, she knew there was a price for magic and she’d not go into this ignorant of those facts.

“You said you attended my birth, yet you hardly look older than me, who are you?” She asked narrowing her eyes.

“I am Nan to you, but I’ve gone by many names in many lives, and I am here to teach you, to show you how powerful your blood is. How powerful _you_ are.”

Satisfied, Sansa took the ancient dagger and drew it across her palm. The blade must have been spell forged indeed, she felt no pain at all as it dragged across her flesh. The woman grabbed her hand and put it to the root of the heart tree and the world melted away.

_She’s standing in what she knows is the courtyard of Winterfell, but it’s not Winterfell, not yet. Not even the First Keep stands, only a simple cottage next to a forge. The landscape is greener with more trees but the air is frigid, the sun barely shining behind the dense clouds. It’s almost as dark as dusk, but she knows it’s supposed to be daytime._

_She sees a woman round with child, hanging linens on a line to dry and two small children circle her skirts, underfoot._

_‘Brandon!’ She calls. ‘I swear before the Gods, do something with these sprouts of yours, they’ll not let me get anything done this day,’ her amused expression belies the annoyed tone in her voice. She continues hanging her linens and a y’all man, dark of hair and well built emerges from the cottage._

_‘Come now little ones, you know your mama gets cross with me, especially when a babe is in her belly,’ he gathers the children in each arm, but not before kissing her sweetly with a hand on her belly._

_The scene changes and the woman is on her birthing bed, moaning with pain. An old woman attends her and She looks directly into Sansa’s eyes, as if she feels or sees her there. She realizes it’s the woman who brought her here, the eyes never lie._

_The birth is long and complicated and the old woman bends down and says to the laboring woman quietly ‘Nisara, your sacrifice will not be in vain. This babe is the sword that will guard humanity from the gathering storm.’_

_The woman lets out a strangled sob, Sansa could feel her fear and heartbreak, as if it were her own and her hand goes to her belly. Would she have to die to bring this babe into the world?_

_The babe comes forth in a hush of blood and water, the old woman hands the babe to Nisara, to allow her a precious moment before she dies. It doesn’t last long, Sansa watched the loving gaze glaze over with death and her arms grew slack._

_The old woman takes the babe to the man waiting just outside the door. ‘You have another strong son,’ she said to him. He took the babe and smiled at him, tears in his eyes. ‘And what of my wife? What of Nisara?’ He asked nervously. The tone in his voice indicated that he knew she was dead, but still he had hope. The old woman shook her head sadly. ‘You knew this would come to pass,’ she said quietly._

_Gut wrenching sobs filled the room. ‘Nissa, Nissa I’m so sorry my love,’ he sobbed into the bundle he held in his arms._

_‘The answer lies in her blood, Brandon.’ The woman said enigmatically before leaving the man alone with his grief._

_She’s transported to another time and place, this time it’s a battle. She sees a man whom she knows is the babe she just saw born. He leads a cohort of men in all black, children of the forest are mixed among them, along with giants._

_She sees the Others approaching, slow and confident, ice blades in their hands. The blood cools in her veins as she watches the scene unfold. Their skin is milky white and grey in some places, they are slender and their bones protrude. Their grey hair hangs from their head, but their eyes, she’d never seen a blue so vivid. It was death, and she knew Jon had the right of it, that everything else was petty compared to what came for them._

_The mindless dead stood sentry behind them, as if waiting for a signal. The men in black were outnumbered and under armed, but they stood firm. The man out front slipped a pale, glowing sword from his scabbard, the steel was as pale as milk, star metal, she knew._

_Then the dead charged and she was transported to yet another vision. The same man had aged, with flecks of grey in his beard, yet he fought another battle against the same enemy, this time they were in the Godswood, and the man managed to back up the dead king into a Weirwood tree and drive his glowing sword where his heart would have been. All around his soldiers shatter into a million pieces and the mindless wights drop where they are, The creature slumps and immediately the Children of the Forest bind him in vines and twigs, to place him in an obsidian box._

_A woman approaches him. ‘You must a raise a castle and great keep here, for it is here that Winter fell, Brandon. But never forget, the battle was one, the war is not over. The evil only sleeps, for you cannot vanquish it. It will be others of your line. One born amidst salt and smoke, reborn in fire, the other a daughter of winter, together they will beat death. Your house will know many battles, and many sorrows, but they are destined and they will survive.’_

_Just then a pack of direwolves slipped from the dense wood and their alpha kneeled before Brandon. He was taken aback by how white the wolf was amidst the ash and blood and filth of the battlefield. ‘You’re a Stark one, aren’t you?’ He said as he scratched the wolf’s ear._

_The alpha howled in approval and hundreds of direwolves howled in response._

_Sansa saw the raising of the great keep, she saw the Giants and the children raise the wall._

_She knew how her house got its name and sigil, knew why Winterfell was named Winterfell, knew the enchantments that went into the building the wall, but she was still unclear how she fit into this._

_She saw the Starks of old conquer the North, and then she knew._

_She felt herself being pulled back._

She awoke to the woman looking intently at her. “Do you see now child?” She asked expectantly. “ I saw the origins of my house and the army of the dead beaten, but it doesn’t explain anything at all.” She said slightly annoyed.

“You have to see with more than your eyes. The answer is in your blood, and I’ll say no more, for now, you needed your abilities awakened, and they have been.”

She sighed. “What abilities?”

“You have the gift of sight, you can control the elements, even _fire,_ you do better with water and earth, if the need arises you can harness the power of fire. Your blood is potent, it heals, and nature belongs to you, soon you will be able to weave spells with no more than a candle, water and dirt. But you still have learning to do, and I am here to guide you, as the fire priestess in here to guide _him._ You will need everything bestowed upon you by The Gods if you’re to defeat the Great Other. While he’s had over eight thousand years to get stronger and build his army, House Stark forgot their magic, but it has been returned, to all who bear the Stark blood.”

“Remember the final battle must be fought here. The dead cannot rise in Winterfell. But you still have a lot to learn. Come to my quarters at midday tomorrow, I trust you remember where they are,” she said with a knowing look as she left her standing alone in the Godswood.

Sansa shivered, not from cold, but from the weight of her words and hurried back to the courtyard to find Jon.

***********************************

Davos stepped forward and draped Jon’s naked body with his cloak and the hatchling climbed from his shoulders so Jon could cradle it in his arms.

“Now how the fuck do you expect to explain this, hmm?” He asked, and Jon knew he said it with affection, although he was genuinely worried.

“I tell you, this man is a God, first he took knives to the chest and didn’t die, killed a White Walker, and steps out of a pyre with a baby dragon. I’m no kneeler, but I know a King when I see one,” Tormund said seriously. 

He was barely aware of everyone on their knees, he walked past them, in a daze. The one person he wanted to see wasn’t there. _Sansa,_ he thought. _Where are you?_ He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard her voice as if she were walking alongside him. _Not far, my love._

He stumbled and Davos caught his arm. “Easy lad, I ‘spose the fire took more out of you than we thought,” he said as he steadied him.

The warmth of the castle soothed him. He realized he was naked aside from the cloak and made to hasten his steps towards the lords chambers.

Once there Davos left him sensing it wasn’t him he wanted to talk to. Before long the door opened and he heard Sansa slipping out of her boots in the solar.

She came into the room and stopped short when she saw the red and white scaled dragon curled in front of the heart next to Ghost.

She entered the chambers and realized Jon had never been inside these rooms before. When she was a little girl, sometimes she would find her way from her bed to her parents chambers when she had night terrors, or whenever she needed the comfort of her mother and the security of her father. Her younger siblings sought out these chambers during night terrors and storms too.

It never occurred to her that Jon never felt that comfort and security. He went from being a bastard to an orphan, never having a mothers love, and learning that the man who raised wasn’t his father was distant from him to protect him.

Her heart broke as she watched him look around the solar, the furnishings were sparse, as the Bolton’s destroyed anything with their house sigil on it, but there remained a dining table with chairs, a writing table, as well as two high backed chairs that sat before the hearth.

Sansa removed the cloak that covered him, peering into his eyes. She gasped at the lilac and amethyst hues eyes staring back at her. They were still Grey, but now they were flecked with amethyst, his irises rimmed in lilac. _I wonder what else has changed,_ she thought.

She couldn’t believe her eyes, but after everything she’d just witnessed, she’d be a fool to question the Gods. He looked at her as if she was the only thing keeping him alive, as if she were the cure for everything that troubled him. He gathered her in his arms and came apart at the contact.

His body shook with sobs as she stroked his back and soothed him. It dawned on him that he’d never been held like this before, held in comfort, it was almost _maternal_ and he broke down again. “Oh Jon, it’s alright.” She held him tighter, knowing that he needed this chaste contact.

“All my life I’ve only ever wanted to be a Stark, but I wasn’t even a Snow, I’d always been a Targaryen. I’m grateful Sansa, truly I am, but I had to come to terms in the fire. I know who I am now, who I was born to be, but a part of me mourns what I thought i was, who Ned raised me to be.”

“Father raised you to be a King, Jon. Think about it, why would he give a bastard a lords education, i can remember my mother screeching about it. You were taught law and history, how to run a keep, how to be a Lord. Why would he do that, if he never intended you to rise above your station?”

It was a good question, one Jon didn’t have the answer to, so he sighed. “Sansa, I am so very tired.”

“So come to bed my love.”

He allowed her to lead him into the bedchamber and they took turns to wash each other. Before long they were both naked and as clean as they could be with the cold water from the basin.

They lay down together and Jon fell asleep almost immediately. It wasn’t so for Sansa. Her body thrummed with her newfound magic and her mind raced. Before long everyone would know about Jon’s claim. Jon wasn’t safe, not with the rumors of another Targaryen with dragons across the narrow sea. Not with the army of the dead bearing down on them from the North, and Cersei threatening them from the South. There were enemies at every compass point and she had work to do.

She thought of the threat to the East. Daenerys Targaryen has three fully grown dragons, a horde of Dothraki, and unsullied soldiers. She also had the weaker claim. But what would she do when she found out there was another, raised in Westeros with the loyalty of five of the seven kingdoms in the land she sought to conquer?

Jon could offer her support in defeating Cersei and abdicate if she agreed to give the North it’s independence. But the North wasn’t hers to give, and she had the feeling that she’d not let one kingdom go so willingly after she fought to survive to one day take seven kingdoms.

No. Sansa didn’t think she would respect the familial bonds, nor the laws of succession. She’s kill Jon first chance she got. Then there was the problem of the Northern Lords learning of Jon’s identity. One problem lead to another and she was tired of playing the game. _There are two sorts of people, the players and the pieces._ She tired of this game but she was no piece on the board.

Jon would have to either give up his claim to the throne to appease them or claim the throne and declare the North as an independent kingdom.

And what to do about Cersei? She knew she wouldn’t March and army North, but that wouldn’t stop her from sending assassins or kidnappers. Tomorrow is another day, she thought wearily.

Her thoughts danced in her head until sleep finally claimed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo I gave Jon a dragon and Sansa some flashbacks of ancient times. I couldn’t find a POC to link of the super wolf blood moon which is a rare occurrence, but there’s one on a mood board for this chapter on my tumblr. I’m big into astrology so I wanted that to play a role in their respective powers “awakening”. I need Jon and Sansa to have some time apart from each other for this to happen and this chapter is mostly Sansa’s POV as I feel I’ve been neglecting her. Not as much fluff and smut as I wanted, this chapter kinda wrote itself and did a 180 from the direction I intended to go in, so apologies but a war with a muse is a losing battle indeed. As always I hope you enjoy, please leave me comments they help a lot with inspiration and motivation. Check out my tumblr @hisqueeninthenorth for The mood board for this chapter, visuals and music, I’m gonna post some songs I listened to while writing, maybe you’ll get the same feels I did while writing!


	13. King In The North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost a week after taking Winterfell and some tedious work of managing a castle is what Sansa has been up to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi my faithful few readers. I want to apologize for the delay in posting. The ‘Rona took me down and I’m still not 100%. The first few days I had the worst headache in the written history of man, and I suffer from migraines. The covid headache is like a level 20 migraine on steroids. I’m still really weak and tired and but I was feeling a little better today so I just started typing. The narrator is inconsistent and this chapter is unorganized, and it pretty much wrote itself. Once again this is not beta read and though I proof read, it’s really hard to proofread my own work because I’m reading what I intended to write, so I may have missed errors. This isn’t my fav chapter but I took some comments under advisement and I tried to do a little politicking- which I suck at- you’ll also find in the coming chapters that I suck at battle scenes. The next few chapters are all high fantasy, you’ve been warned. It’s my niche

Winterfell was abuzz with activity and rumors the four days Jon lay abed. They whispered of him stepping from a funeral pyre unburnt with a hatchling, they whispered of how only those with the blood of Old Valyria were able to hatch and control dragons, but the whispers of he and Sansa sharing the Lord’s chambers were the loudest of all.

Sansa avoided Loyd Royce and his suspicious gaze as much as possible, but it doesn’t help matters much. She would hold audience with him today, she couldn’t have him find out with the other lords who’d managed to assemble here at Winterfell in the last days. She regretted her decision to keep him in the dark, especially looking back. He’d been their first ally among the Westerosi. She couldn’t afford to lose his support and trust.

She sighed and massaged her temples, willing away the headache she felt behind her eyes. Her stomach lurched with nausea and she was exhausted. It had been one scroll after another, one meeting after another for the five days since they’d taken the castle. And Jon still slept. She wouldn’t have been as bitter about it, if that hatchling didn’t screech all night.

She watched the rise and fall of Jon’s chest from where she sat by the fire, needlework in hand. She had earned a bit of respite from the never ending accounting she and maester Wolkan undertook. They went from room to room those first three days, going through chests, trunks and desks. Sorting scrolls and counting bushels of wheat and barrels of ale. The business of feeding an army and the small folk was no small undertaking. It was her duty and she would do it.

The finances were a bit trickier than the rations. Not only did she have to account for Winterfells coins, but that of the Dreadfort, and Littlefinger’s holdings of Harrenhal and The Fingers. Not that there was much to count at Harrenhal. The lands were cursed and every lord to hold the castle was dead. Luckily, Littlefingers’ time as master of coin taught him how to hoard wealth. The combined incomes left their coffers swelling, suddenly they had more wealth than they knew what to do with. Sansa has put it to good use. Most of the coin would go to fortifying the walls of the castle and repairing the many buildings in need of repair. The Broken tower was first on her list.

She still had so much to do. They needed to establish a proper household. She needed ladies to attend to her, a proper household guard. They needed a steward and a master at arms. The list kept growing and help was short. Whenever Jon woke, she wouldn’t speak with him about proper advisors, if things went as she planned, he would be named King in the North. She trusted Davos and Tormund with her life. Lady Brienne as well. But she knew she had to placate the lords from other houses. They would need to be given seats on their council. She knew it needed to be done, but was loyalty bought and paid for true loyalty?

They had the North and the Vale, but that was little compared to what their enemies held. Cersei held the Crownlands and Stormlands, if rumors were true, she had also aligned with Euron Greyjoy. If others rumors were true, Daenerys Targaryen, Jon’s _aunt,_ landed on Dragonstone with Olenna Tyrell and Ellaria Sand. With The Reach among her allies, Daenerys could feed 20 armies. The Kingdom was almost equally divided. But the North was half the continent, and field could many men. They had Asha Greyjoy, so at best the Ironborn were divided. She needed to secure the support of the Riverlands. It helped that The Vale, Riverlands and North were previously allied in the Rebellion. The Riverlands were sworn to Rob through her uncle Edmure, and May still rally to their cause, but he disappeared from the Twins, and she hadn’t heard anything of his whereabouts since Arya told them she foolishly sent him and Jason Mallister on their way after freeing them.

They need to establish advisors and a formal court frayed her wits. No one had declared Jon king, not _yet_ at least, but she knew when all the lords were assembled it would happen. The North had declared its independence from the crown at the start of the war of the five King’s, and since they’d liberated the North from the Bolton’s, the small folk and few lords at Winterfell had been whispering of the White Wolf, how he was untouchable in battle, how the men rallied behind him, how bastard or no, he looked kore Stark than any of Ned’s trueborn children, save Arya, and how they needed a King.

She knew they’d overlook her because she was a woman and because she, in there eyes, is still a Lannister. That may have bothered the foolish girl she was, but a part of her was grateful they held Jon is such high esteem. Maybe his Targaryen side wouldn’t matter as much.

It would matter to Daenerys though. She would either see him as her biggest threat and have him killed, embrace him as nephew and heir or propose a marriage alliance. None of those were suitable options for them. He could not be her heir. He’d have to leave Winterfell and Sansa would sooner cut off her nose than live in the capital with someone other than Jon ruling. And even if he ruled, she wasn’t sure she’s want to leave the North now that they were back. She couldn’t bear the thought of even entertaining a political marriage between Jon and Daenerys either. Targaryens long held the practice of multiple wives. Sansa would be his one and only.

 _He is mine, my mate for life._ She thought as she placed a hand on the barely noticeable swell of her belly. She carried his child, they were finally home, but the danger was far from passed. They still had to secure their hold on the North. That meant coming clean and making Jon a Stark through marriage before the lords. Once he took the Stark name, there would be no question where his loyalties lie.

She needed him. Awake and healthy and _whole,_ but she wouldn’t wake him. The witch said he needed his rest, and he would be the man he needed to be when he awoke, whenever that may be. She wanted to wring the woman’s neck. She was mystery and riddles, secrets and magic. But Sansa felt the power of the Gods within her, so she listened. More importantly she learned.

Every morning, between the blackness of night and the first rays of dawn, the woman would rouse her from sleep and lead her into the Godswood. She gave her blood to the Hearttree and was swept away in visions or she was tutored on how to use the nature around her make magic. She learned that the wood from Weirwood trees could fell a dragon, it’s sap could heal burns and cuts, and it’s bark when boiled down could be used as a tea to counteract most poisons and soothe upset stomachs in small dosages. She learned to call wind with a whistle, and make a storm with her tears. She spied on others through the steaming pool by the heart tree, and she called the fire when she thought of Jon.

The power of the Old Gods was strong within her too. She dreamt, and she saw. The lords spoke to her and she listened, picking out lies from truths. Her budding abilities served her well. She watched her siblings, their abilities seemed to be linked to hers. Arya became a fiercer fighter, quicker, deadlier, so much like her wolf, and Rickon brought with him the magic of Skagos. The Starks were back in Winterfell, and so was the magic. Magic could only save them from The Others, it would be their wits, their allies and advisors who’d save them from their living enemies.

A soft knock jarred her from her musings. “Enter,” she called softly.

Maester Wolkan entered, standing by the door. “My lady, three riders approach carrying a white flag. The gates are being raised and your sister sent for you.” He said nervously.

She put down her needlework and smoothed her skirts, sterling herself for yet another encounter, sure to leave her mentally drained. She looked to the bed, _wake, I need you,_ she willed. She watched her husband for a beat more, noting no change in his breathing and left to see who came under a flag of truce.

_He was flying again. Everything looked so small and inconsequential from his vantage point in the sky. He was atop the dragon. This time he wasn’t afraid. The dragon seemed to sense his needs before he knew them, he flew where Jon wanted him to go, how Jon wanted him to fly. He barely had to think ‘faster’ and the dragon seemed to slice through the clouds. To the wall, he urged his mount. And they were there, but what he saw turned his blood to ice in his veins despite the dragon he sat on._

_Just beyond the wall, the dead stood, hundreds of thousands of them. They moved not at all, as if they were waiting for someone. They went as far as the eye could see, there were Giants, and mammoths and horses. Men woman and children in various states of decay, just waiting._

_A screech rent the air, and somehow he knew what it was. The Night King came into view, atop his own dead dragon. Jon wanted to retch. The smell of death and decay all at once became too over bearing, but he could not urge his mount forward. They were suspended in the air by the steady flap of the beasts wings. The dead dragon moved unnaturally fast, and before Jon knew what was happening, the Night King was before the wall, bathing it in blue fire. ‘Lēkia’ the pain from his dragon was palpable. He knew the word to mean brother. His own mount screamed in mourning. The Night King looked up and looked right through him, and the cold pierced Jon’s soul. He could see him, he knew. Was this a dream? How could the Night King be aware in his dreams? He smiled at him, and Jon felt the bile rise and bite at his throat. He watched on in horror as the wall began to crack and crumble, then come tumbling down._

_He’s standing in the Godswood now, in front of the heart tree and the face looks like him somehow. He hears snow squelching underfoot behind him and he turns on his heel to see who approaches. The man is tall and well built with a shock of silver blonde hair and indigo eyes. He smiles sadly at him._

_‘Aemon,’ he whispered. The man reached out towards Jon as if to touch him, then dropped his hand back to his side. ‘Rhaegar.’ He said nothing else as he regarded the man in dented black and red armor. ‘I am sorry that I left you. That I could not be a true father to you.’ The tears flowed freely down his cheeks as he spoke. Rhaegar looked around him “The North is beautiful and mysterious… and deadly. Dead things March and you must be ready,” he said._

_‘Aye, I’m well aware of that. I’ve fought them.’ Jon had no patience to hear things he already knew from a man who’d abandoned his wife and children to run off with a child. ‘Why?’ He asked him, not bothering to elaborate. Rhaegar quirked an eyebrow. ‘Why do they march? I know not.’ Jon breathes out a heavy sigh. ‘No, why did you take my mother? Why did you abandon your wife? Why did you start a war? Why did you DIE?” The last word ended on a shout and the wind blew fiercely between them._

_‘If I said it was all for love, I’d make a liar out of myself, and a fool out of you. But I did it to save the realm.’ Jon scoffed and kicked at a tree root to avoid looking at his father. ‘Prophecy hung over my head since my birth. But I had dreams. Dreams of a dead king with ice for a crown. A king who commanded hundreds of thousands dead soldiers marching on Westeros and leaving more death in their wake. My dreams told me to look to the prophecies. At one point, I thought I was the promised prince, but the more I dreamed I realized it would be my children to save us all. When my Aegon was born,’ he shuddered at the memory of the murdered prince, ‘there was a red comet in the sky, and I knew it was him. The dragon has three heads they said, so I was determined to give him his Rhaenys and Visenya. After Rhaenys was born, we were told that Elia could bear no more children, that it would kill her, so I looked to take another wife.’ He looked to Jon and smiled sadly. It was a smile full of regrets and pain. ‘Your Mother was beautiful in an earthy way. She was strong and fearless. She challenged me. It wasn’t love at first sight, but the connection I felt when I first looked upon her couldn’t be denied. I told her of my dreams and the prophecy and she believed me, she believed in me. It wasn’t long after that my heart was stolen. I believe you know the rest.’_

_Jon digested his words but wasn’t satisfied. ‘Aye, thousands of men died, you died, Lyanna died and I was left to be raised a bastard. To be treated with indifference by my aunt, to be cast aside as soon as my father left these walls. I was never wanted, and I never knew a mothers love. You sired me to fulfill a prophecy, but never cared about me, never thought past your prophecy, never thought what would become of me if you fell. And now you’re here.’ He said. He didn’t know how to feel. Ever since he saw the truth of his birth in death, he’d wondered about Rhaegar. He took the measure of the man and found him wanting._

_‘I make no excuses for the choices I made because I made them, knowing what could happen. But from the moment your mother told me of your existence, I loved you. You were the last thought I had before life left my body.’ He fingered the hole in his breastplate, his eyes went to a faraway place as if he were reliving the moment Roberts hammer cleaved his chest in._

_Jon feels his throat burn and tears cloud his vision. ‘It’s not enough,’ he said as he turned his back on the man who sired him. ‘I know,’ comes his reply. ‘You must ready yourself for the wars to come. And make no mistake there are many. You have enemies to the south, and my sister, family or no, is an enemy. Her dragon has already severed the bond with her and forged one with you. She will resent you for it. The lords of the North have no love for me or my blood, but you must convince them that their survival depends on it. I welcome your anger, but use it to your advantage, not to spite a dead man.’ He stops and looks around the Godswood. ‘Lord Eddard raised you to be an honorable man, a good man. You will always do your duty, and it pains me that the world is on your shoulders. But I would also see you live and be happy, my son.’ This time he did touch Jons face. ‘You’re so much like her,’ he whispered, and then he was gone._

_He stood at the heart tree staring at the face carved in the trunk. His brothers voice filled his head. “Wake up, Aemon.” He sighed. “My name is Jon,” he answers defiantly. ‘You will always be Jon Snow, it’s who your father raised you to be, but now you must take the name that was given to you by your parents. Reconcile the two halves of yourself. You are dragon and wolf. You knew a time would come when you’d have to choose. You can be Aemon Stark or Jon Targaryen, it matters not, but you must accept it. The lords will tear you apart if they sense any weakness and now isn’t the time for that. You must wake, we need you.’_

He woke to a darkened room lit by the soft glow of the fire. The door leading to the outer solar was closed but he heard muffled voices beyond it. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and tried to stand. His legs almost gave out. _Gods, how long have I been abed,_ he thought as he got his bearings.

He dressed quickly and entered the solar to find the room full of people. He scanned the room and met Sansa’s eyes, which were full of unshed tears. Before he could ask her what had happened he heard “It’s good to see you Jon,” his head whipped towards the voice he knew to be Bran. There he sat, in a chair with wheels beside a young woman with dark curly hair and moss green eyes. An older man held fast to her hand, and he realized that it must be her father, Lord Reed.

He took a knee in front of Bran and embraced him. He held him for a long moment then drew back. “You’ve got some explaining to do, brother, but I’m glad that you’re finally here. All living Starks under one roof.” Bran smiled slightly. “I suppose I do, cousin.” Jon winced at the term of endearment, but said nothing of it. He noticed two unfamiliar faces and before he could ask who they were, Sansa made the introductions.

“Jon, this is lord Galbart Glover and lady Maege Mormont. They have news they wish to share only with you.” She nodded to Bran and Meera to give them privacy. As she rose, Jon grabbed her wrist. “I’d have you stay. And where is Arya and Rickon? I want them here as well.” Sansa nodded and left the chambers to fetch them.

“My lord, my Lady, I want to thank you for coming this way, and keeping faith with my brother Robb. I know the years since his death haven’t been kind. We thought you dead to be honest.” Jon said. “Aye the wars had been unkind, we’ve been on the run, harassed by bandits, chased by Lannister’s and Frey’s, only knowing peace after we reached Greywater.” Lord Glover looked to Howland and nodded. “Your sacrifice will not go unrewarded,” Jon said.

Lady Maege grimaced. “We do nothing for reward Your Grace, we are doing our duty, no more no less.” Jon froze at the honorific the lady styled him with. “I am no King my lady,” he said slowly, as Howland met his eyes with a look that peered into his soul. “That’s not true,” Bran said. Jon fixed him with a look as if to say “be quiet” but he kept on. “You were born a king and raised a bastard. That has the makings of a great song,” he said with a smirk.

Sansa, Arya, And Rickon entered the room, breaking the tension. “We’re all here, please tell me what was so pressing that couldn’t wait til the morn?” Arya said as she swaggered in and took a seat close to Bran. Rickon sat by Brans feet and allowed him to muss his hair.

 _“_ We came here to deliver the will of Robb Stark, King in The North, signed and sealed in our presence before his death.” Lady Mormont said as she removed a small box from her dirty furs. She held it up so they could see the unbroken seal of a grey direwolf.

Sansa gasped, “That is father’s seal,” she said. “It was Robb’s seal, my lady, begging your pardon,” Lord Glover interrupted.

Jon eyed the scroll with dread. Somehow he knew what the scroll said without reading it. He looked to Sansa and she moved to hold his hand. “Gods, would you open the damn thing already?” Rickon asked impatiently.

He felt as if his world were changing yet again as he broke the seal. He smiled as he looked upon his brothers familiar handwriting and his eyes grew misty thinking about all the sore knuckles they’d earned during their lessons with Maester Luwin for less than perfect penmanship.

He read the words but didn’t believe them. He passed the scroll to Sansa and sat down hard in the chair closest to him, hanging his head in his hands.

“Well, what does it say?” Arya asked. “Robb legitimized him, names him Jon Stark and his heir. He named him King in the North.” With a shaky hand she passed the scroll to Arya.

He listened for a while as they talked amongst themselves. Having heard enough he stood. “It cannot stand,” he said. “He thought Bran and Rickon dead, Arya, you were missing and the Lannister’s forced you into marriage,” he said finally looking at Sansa. “It cannot stand. Ned Starks’ trueborn sons are right here, alive. Their presence makes this will invalid.” He finished.

“I cannot be King or Lord of Winterfell, I am the Three Eyed Raven now,” Bran said cryptically. “I have no wish for any of this shit,” Rickon said. “You forget, I was just a boy when we were run from here, I don’t know how to be King,” he said.

“We will teach you, Sansa and I,” Jon said. Sansa shook her head. “Even if you don’t accept the mantle of King, he named you a Stark Jon, you cannot refuse that. It’s all you wanted and it makes _things_ a lot easier.” She said. He shook his head, “Or it doesn’t, this will names me your _brother.”_

It was Lord Reed that spoke next. “I have something to say.” He stood and looked at every one in the room. The man, short with greying hair and green eyes was of a height with Arya but in this moment his presence loomed over everyone and he commanded the room. “I was there, in Dorne, when Ned found Lyanna, bleeding out and suffering from childbed fever.” He paused to gauge the reactions of the two lords he traveled with. “She had given birth to a son, and made Ned promise to protect the child with her dying breath. He took that child and raised him as his bastard, and took the secret of your birth Jon, to the grave. You are the true born son of Rhaegar Targaryen. So you see, you were always meant to be King. Of the North or the six kingdoms, it matters not. You cannot ignore the destiny in your blood.” He sat down and it was so quiet you could hear a mouse breathe.

This could work in his favor, he thought. If he feigned ignorance now, the Lords wouldn’t think him a liar and schemer.

“What are you saying Lord Reed? That my father lied to me my whole life, that he let his wife ignore me and treat me with indifference all for a lie?” He said voice rising. He looked to Sansa, hoping she would understand where he was going with this and she smirked. She in turn fixed arya with a deadly gaze to keep her silent.

“You must understand, Robert vowed to kill any Targaryens, he laughed when presented with the bodies of Elia and her children, he sent assassins after Daenerys and Viserys when they were children. He would have killed you, regardless of his love for your Uncle,” he said.

“This changes everything,” Lady Mormont said. Glover nodded his head, “Aye it does doesn’t it?” Sansa shook her head. “It changes nothing, he is Robb’s heir and he’s been legitimized. We can further bind him to the North with a marriage.” She said defiantly. “Who would have him, a targaryen raised as a bastard?” Lady Maege asked.

“I will.” Sansa said with her chin in the air. He looked at her and smiled. “My Lords, My lady,” she said as she looked to the two men and woman, “we’ll speak more of this tomorrow, all the Lords have answered my summons and we will hold audience in the great hall after the morning meal has been served. Lord Reed, your honor and credibility go a long way in explaining this. Chambers have been prepared for you, as you know my siblings and I will be up long into the night getting reacquainted. I thank you again, and bid you good night,” she said.

Rickon snorted as the door closed and Arya barely concealed their laughter. “That was the most polite dismissal I’ve ever witnessed,” she said wiping her eyes.

“I tire of these games,” Sansa looked to Jon, who seethed. His dragon and his wolf became restless, Ghost pacing and the hatchling screeching at his shoulder. He reached around and placed the creature on the floor.

“I want to have a ceremony in the Godswood tomorrow, I want to put this foolishness to rest. Lord Howland can testify of my birth, Rhaegars’ letters prove it as well. I have no taste for politicking and plotting. The lords will pledge their armies and their aid, or they will face the long night without the assistance and security of House Stark.” He looked around the room, daring anyone to object.

Bran smirked and patted Meera’s hand, signaling her to take him away. Before they left, Sansa stood and clasped Meera’s hands. “Thank you,” she said, “for what you did for my brother.” The look of pain that flashed across Meera’s face didn’t go unnoticed. Sansa let go of her hand and pulled her into a sisterly embrace. “You’re pack now,” Arya said. “Aye, you are, I remember our nights on the run, we became family all those years ago,” Rickon offered.

Jon spoke next, “The Reeds have been loyal to House Stark, but what you did, what you sacrificed to see my brother safe, went beyond the bounds of loyalty from a banner man to his lord. You will always have a place here, among us.” He said.

“Thank you,” she said as she looked down upon Bran. The love and grief shining in her eyes.

Arya and Rickon soon filed out, leaving the two of them alone. She found herself in his arms no sooner than the door closed behind them.

“Sansa,” her name a throaty whisper on his lips. “I’m here, I will always be here.” He groaned into her neck. It was desperate and it was heartbreaking. He needed her like he needed air. She pulled away from him and his heart clenched at the loss of contact.

“Talk to me,” she said and she ran her fingers through his curls.

“I don’t know, I feel this emptiness, here” he motioned to his chest, “whenever we’re apart. I dreamed as I slept and all I thought about was waking because I missed you. And the babe,” he said as he reached out to touch her belly, “I feel as if it’s pulling me, calling me. I can _feel_ it’s heartbeat, rapid like the beat of a hummingbirds wings. Sometimes I can feel you, I can feel your thoughts, your feelings, sometimes it’s too much. When I think of how much I love you, how much I need you, I know I would let this castle burn if it means your safety, and I would burn a thousand more for our child.” He shuddered. “I was a man of duty, I’d forsaken a lover for duty, but now I’m not the same man.”

He looked away from her, almost ashamed. She cupped his face, forcing him to look at her, “You cling to your duty because that’s all you had, but you have your family back, now _that_ is your duty.” She kissed him. Slow and tender, hoping to kiss and love away all his tension and fears. He shuddered against her lips and wrapped his arms around her.

“If only I could hold you in my arms forever,” he sighed. “You will,” she said, “but first you must eat.”

Jon could barely hear himself think. The Lords were shouting and banging cups on the tables in the great hall. “We declared Robb king in the North. We spit on the iron throne, we piss on the Red Keep, now you tell us that you’re Rhaegar’s whelp, and you intend to marry a woman raised as your sister?” Lord Manderly’s voice boomed throughout the hall.

“Yes I am the son of Rhaegar, and yes I intend to marry Lady Stark. Not to bring the North to heel, but to protect it. It’s no secret Lady Stark was wed as a prisoner, this marriage is to protect her as well. I have no designs on ruling six or seven kingdoms, I am of the North, and a Stark as much as Bran, Rickon, Arya and Sansa. You ha e the proof of my birth, but the proof of my character is before you. We liberated the North from the Bolton’s, all we ask is your support against the army of the dead.”

What little peace that was had while he spoke dissolved as the lords grew unruly yet again.

“Tales old nurse maids tell to naughty children!”

“Grumpkins and snarks,” one lord scoffed.

A whistle so high pitched it could have split eardrums tent the air and Tormund stood. “You men sat behind your wall for thousands of years and let us freefolk get picked off by The Others. I’ve seen the Nights King. Every man they killed he raised with a wave of his hand. We have fought them, we have been running from them. You think we raid because we’re thieves?” His voice grew louder with every word until it vibrated off the rafters. “We’re no different than you, only we got caught on the wrong side of the wall. And you named us savages for it. You’ve had the privilege of safety your entire pampered lives. The privilege of thinking the Others are just tales to scare your children. We freefolk live and die knowing the truth, and real terror. I’ve seen what gathers beyond the wall, and so has the crow. And it comes for us all.”

Every man sat in rapt attention. The hall was once again quiet. Jon took his cue. “This isn’t about petty squabbles and differences. This isn’t even about the North. If we fall, life as we know it is over. The dead will kill everything in its path and add it to its ranks. I can’t speak for any man here save myself. I wish to remain among the living. I wish to see my family live and be happy. Can any of you here not say the same? This war is the war for the living and death is the enemy. I’ve conquered death before, but I can’t do it alone this time.”

He settled into his seat and hoped that would be enough.

“We should rid

“The war is over and winter has come, we should ride home and wait out the coming storms,” Lord Manderly said to no one in particular.

Jon flushes in annoyance. “The war is _not_ over, and I promise you, friend, the true enemy won’t wait out the storm. He _brings_ the storm.” He felt his patience wearing thin.

“Your son was butchered at the Red Wedding, Lord Manderly, but you refused the call. You swore allegiance to House Stark, Lord Glover, but in their hour of greatest need, you refused the call. And you, Lord Cerwyn, your father was skinned alive by Ramsay Bolton. Still you refused the call. But House Mormont remembers. The North remembers. We know no king but the King in the North whose name is Stark. I don't care if he's a bastard Snow or a trueborn Targaryen. The Stark's blood runs through his veins. He's my king from this day until his last day.”

Lyanna Mormonts’ voice rang loud and clear for one so small. Her mother looked on with pride as she was the first one to take up the chant.

“KING IN THE NORTH! KING IN THE NORTH!” The lords and ladies chanted until his ears rung. Sansa reaches under the table and grabbed his hand, squeezing slightly. “ _I’m here,”_ she thought. Jon’s eyes grew wide. He heard her.   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you enjoyed this filler chapter. As you can see some dialogue was pulled directly from 6x10. I’m trying to move the story along with the pacing. I don’t want to dwell too much on travel times, and unnecessary directives. This kinda gives you an idea where we are in the story. Next few chapters will be dragon whispering, more legends and flashbacks, Sansa will really harness the elements- not on purpose- and I think another Arya POV as her fav blacksmith and hound make it to the castle. Again the timeline is a jumble and pro canoners are like “but that’s not how that happened” but this is loosely loosely following showverse with some book elements mixed in: I’m still working on how to include some book characters that were cut from the show. Have some ideas for a lady with a heart of stone I hope to be able to successfully work in.   
> Please your feedback is appreciated, I’m moderating comments because I’m still getting hate mail but all constructive critique is welcome. Also I still need a beta, if interested HMU @hisqueeninthenorth


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